As Others See
by JediShampoo
Summary: A magical misfire ends with the wrong Howls in the wrong worlds. HMC movie crossover with HMC book. Romance, light humor, light angst. Warning for adult scenes. Complete.
1. Magical Misfire

**As Others See **

**By Jedishampoo** T (PG-13) for now, will change to M later (definitely). Some language, sexuality.

**Summary:** A magical misfire ends with the wrong Howls in the wrong worlds. Howl's Moving Castle (Movie) crossover with Howl's Moving Castle (book).

**Author's Notes:** This is mostly an excuse to play with the people involved and see how I might make the movie characters deal with Book!Howl and the book characters deal with Movie!Howl. **WARNING**: Most of it will be T-rated and lightly humorous but I'll switch it to M later for sex. And what I plan to do to the characters is not very nice in some parts. You may hate it. It's all so very, very, wrong, I'm sure, but I couldn't help it. You'll see. ;) Thanks to sakura haru and sharpeslass for their betas!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters in this story, Diana Wynne Jones or Studio Ghibli does. I'm just playing with them.

**x x x**

**Chapter 1: Magical Mistakes **

Howl laid the spell-page on the workbench, then set his hands on his hips and looked down at Markl.

"Well," he said.

Markl looked back up at him, smiling, silent and expectant. The morning Market Chipping sunlight streaming through the window picked golden bits out of the boy's red hair, making him look younger, almost innocent and angelic. Howl wondered if he was about to do something foolish.

The spell on the bench was an iffy one. But ever since Howl had discovered its existence he'd thought about it and thought about it, unable to extricate it from his mind. He'd found it last week in one of his uncle's old notebooks, but it was clear it had been culled from something older still. The leading edge of the yellowed page was torn and the rest ragged and showing signs of creeping black, as if it had been burnt and the ashes knocked off. Rescued perhaps, then; not culled.

And some of the typeset and spellings were the tiniest bit archaic. Earlier this morning Howl had finally shown the page to the old lady, wondering if she knew anything about the spell or had seen it before. She'd merely laughed, an odd little cackle.

"Tell me what happens when you try it," she'd said.

Howl had laughed at her in return. "I might not. Besides. You could just watch what happens, if I do try it."

"Hmm," she'd said, and had taken her coffee outside for her morning cigar.

It wasn't dark magic; Howl was fairly certain of that. The ingredients were rare but normal. He just wasn't sure what the spell would do. He had a pretty good idea, though.

A shower of dust motes swarmed, glinting, into the shaft of sunlight, set dancing about by Sophie's broom. Markl sneezed.

"Sophie!" Howl turned and said.

"What? I'll be out of your way soon," she said in her most no-nonsense voice. Her broom swished back and forth, back and forth, swaying like her dark green skirts, sending the dust motes sparkling and whirling into the air with every swish. Surely when she was done, the floor would be exactly as dirty as it had been before.

There must be a method to her madness, Howl thought, but he was damned if he knew what it was. So he watched her for a few moments, telling himself that he was _not_ procrastinating the execution of this spell. Just enjoying the view, and the sound of her humming.

Watching her clean made him feel a bit warm, and swirly. He would have been hard-pressed to identify every individual feeling boiling around in his stomach, but there were a few he could pick out. Watching her clean his castle made him feel homey, secure. Watching her hips swing back and forth as she swept made him feel something else entirely. His thoughts crept inexorably back to last night, in his bed, and the swirly warmth edged up a couple of degrees, formed itself into a tight ball, and settled somewhere below his stomach. Dimly he realized that his expression had probably gone rather melty.

"What does the spell do, Master Howl?"

"I'm not sure," Howl said, coughing to erase the melty expression and banish the brief, erotic fantasies, and to re-focus on the task at hand. Still he watched her. Hadn't he read somewhere, a long time ago, that men spent at least one out of every ten minutes thinking about sex? Howl thought perhaps lately he'd exceeded that statistic. But how could he help it? Sophie really was amazing; she cooked, cleaned and sewed like any good Ingarian girl. She was the only one sweet and nice enough to put up with him. She also ran away from home, broke curses, was heart-stoppingly passionate-- another phrase he'd read at some point flashed through his brain. That the perfect wife was a lady in the parlor and a courtesan in the bedroom. Too true. _He read too much._ But she was perfect for him, in any case.

He eyed the engagement ring glinting on her right hand. Now he only had to nail her down to the "wife" part, and all would be right and tight. A month or so more, that was all, she'd promised. Wait until her mother and sister were resettled, and it could be done properly, knowing all along that it was not even remotely proper for her to be living here. Sophie chose her moments of propriety according to her own personal method. It was one of the few traits they had in common.

Right now she apparently found it proper to clean, as she did every morning after breakfast. The sunlight turned her hair alternate shades of palest gold and silver as she moved in and out of the beams, feet dancing to her own private tune. The melty feelings started up again. Howl turned resolutely back to the bench.

"Well, are we going to work it?" Markl wanted to know. His young voice held a note of impatience.

"I don't know," Howl prevaricated. But he had to be honest with himself, at least. There really was no doubt that he was going to do the spell. The future!-- who could resist a peep or two? All that remained was to start. "Yes."

"Awesome." Markl sneezed again.

Behind them, Sophie sighed. "All right, I understand," she said, and set the broom against something with a wooden click. "Calcifer, if you would please heat me some water, I'll clean your hearth outside. Those birds we passed through yesterday-- they made such a mess!"

"Sure," Calcifer told her, in a nicer tone than he'd ever used with Howl. Howl silently added "charmed fire demons" to his mental list of things Sophie had accomplished in the last few months. Then he stretched out his arms and cracked his knuckles. Something glinted on his blue sleeve, and he stared at it for a moment in horror. It was one of his own newly re-dyed blond hairs. He picked it off and reattached it to his head, and then cracked his knuckles again.

"All right, Markl, hand me the blue rose extract, would you? Careful! It's expensive. Do you remember what it does?"

"It's a medium for spells that have a time release. The base holds the time steady until you set it off."

"Wow, that's pretty good," Howl told him with some admiration. He tapped a few precious drops into a bowl. He made a motion over the bowl with his finger, spreading the drops to make a thin coating up the sides.

Markl stood on tiptoe to look at the paper and then held up a packet of dried rubber-leaf. Howl nodded at him and Markl dropped it in, then fetched the other ingredients, one by one.

To be truthful, Howl was glad of the chance to relearn some of this old book-magic. His contract with Calcifer had made those sort of basics moot, even after the contract had been broken. But the routine was comforting. He was becoming rather staid.

As Markl dropped ingredients into the bowl, Howl's thoughts drifted outside. He could just hear Sophie's singing, the soft words filtering through Calcifer's open hearth. It was an old song, one of those sad ones that elderly men sang in taverns after hours with tears creeping down their weathered faces.

"There," Markl said after a bit. "Now do you speak the incantation aloud?"

Howl shook his head and raised his hand, and looked at the words on the yellowed page. _Artumnus_ _elo_ _forthum_, he thought. _And lo, lo, lo, the fair barmaid did go, go go--_

The ingredients in the bowl flared like concentrated, captive lightning.

_Ooops_, Howl thought as he felt himself falling backwards, just before his head connected with the edge of the kitchen table.

**x x x**

Howell looked over at Michael, and then down at the book on the table, and then he crossed his arms and pouted. The magic was pointless and rather dangerous and Howell was not quite sure why he was going to perform it.

Go to the future, indeed! Past years were easy-- they'd already happened, and one could visit them at any time. Of course what he was doing now had already happened, for people in the future. But it was best left to those people to come backwards, not for him to go forwards. Or something. Thinking about it made his brain hurt.

But the King had commanded it. His advisors had discovered the old spell-book in the castle archives-- Howell thought he might sneak into those archives some day to see if there were any other such dangerous items laying around, if he ever got up the energy, that was-- and the King had wasted no time in finding a wizard to perform the magic for him.

Ben Suliman had only escaped the task by claiming he was not powerful enough to accomplish the spell. Howell wished he'd been half so intelligent, but he never could resist an opportunity to show off.

Oh, he'd told His Majesty _no_, at first, of course. One might have a peep when divining, but the King had wanted a spell to take him fifty, sixty years into the future. He'd wanted to see what had become of him, and Princess Valeria, and he'd also wanted to see the political climate of the future, to see if the Strangians were sincere in their current desire for everlasting treaties.

Howell, stupidly, had told the King that the spell was unworkable. That there wasn't enough blue-rose oil in the world to make such a thing possible. Five years would be the extent of it, he prophesied. So the King had said, well then, make it five years.

The King was a lot more savvy than most people gave him credit for. It was no wonder he'd railroaded Sophie when Howell had sent her to the palace all those months ago.

Thinking of Sophie conjured her. She and her sister blew in through the door like forces of nature, arriving for their daily co-chaperoned visit/cleaning session. Multicolored leaves swirled in behind them, some as red-gold as his fiancee's hair, others yellow or crackling brown. Sophie _tsked_ in annoyance at the mess they made of the castle room, and slammed the door shut behind her.

Michael's eyebrows rose in hope as the girls entered, and then fell as he saw that it was only the lovely Lettie accompanying Sophie today. If there was no Martha to gape at, then girls held no interest for Michael. Even Sophie. He looked at Howell, matching his pout.

"Everything's ready," Michael ventured.

"I know," Howell whined. Still he hesitated to work, and instead watched as the girls removed their cloaks and hung them in the broom-cupboard. He felt rather smug and self-satisfied doing so. Sophie had turned out much prettier than he'd imagined she might, all those months ago. It was a lucky thing he'd picked her to fall in love with, once he'd had his heart returned.

Her face was heart-shaped and pale, surrounded by wisps of hair-- titian, he supposed he might call the color-- that looked well with her darkish-yellow dress. She was slender as a tree-sprite, wearing the colors of fall, as sunny as the outside. She was exactly his type.

He'd chosen the right place to settle, in Ingary, it seemed. In Wales it always rained. And Welsh girls tended to the dark, like Lettie. He'd used to like dark-haired beauties, he thought, but decided he didn't care for them any longer.

"Hello, Howl," fair Sophie said and walked over to where he and Michael stood at the bench. Howell leaned forward to give her a chaste peck on the lips. She allowed it for a couple of seconds and for a couple of seconds he enjoyed it, enjoyed the little spark of interest that jabbed at his belly when he kissed her. Then she swished off, her long, braided hair thumping him on the shoulder as she turned.

Howell coveted that hair-color. He might try it some day. Perhaps for the wedding in a few months' time; they'd make a fabulous pair.

They'd make a fabulous pair _now_, he thought, if he could ever get her alone. He'd taken her to Wales (accompanied by a sister, of course), shown her what life was like there, and hinted that not everything modern was a bad idea. She'd even met a few of his old girlfriends. But like most Ingarian girls, she was a tougher nut to crack when it came to the physical. So perforce, he would wait, and hope fervently that all there would work itself out in the end.

"Hello Sophie, dear," he told her back. "And Lettie," he added.

That young lady took her own look around, and apparently not spotting anyone she'd wished to see, sat at one of the kitchen chairs with an unladylike _oomph._

Michael refused to ask about a certain person, though Howell knew he wanted to. "Are we going to start this spell or not?" Michael asked.

"You're awfully bossy today," Howell told him with a glare.

Michael colored. "Sorry."

"A-hem," Howell added for emphasis, and stretched out his arms to begin building the spell, being careful not to drip his long sleeves into anything expensive.

"If you're a-hemming to us, then don't," Sophie said at that. "In fact, don't mind us at all. I'm just going to do some cleaning and Lettie has promised to help me work on the suits. You can just do whatever you were doing before we came."

"That's exactly what we were planning to do," Howell told her with a sniff. "I was a-hemming at Michael."

"Keep on doing it, then," Sophie retorted.

"I will," Howell said. She was in a feisty mood today, he thought. He liked that about her. She was nice, but not _too_ nice. But to make sure he had the last word in that little argument, he added, "a-_hem_, Michael."

Michael obediently pulled out ingredients, being extra-careful with the rare blue-rose oil, and handed them to Howell. Howell flipped them in turn onto the metal plate and said the appropriate words at the appropriate times. When the spell was finished, they'd wrap the plate and deliver it to the King. Well, Michael would deliver it to the King. Howell would take a bath, or try to make a little time with Sophie, or both.

"_Elos_," Howell said at the appropriate time, swishing his left hand dramatically. His voice thundered in just the right manner; he liked the way this one was going, and hoped the girls were suitably impressed.

"Oh, by the way, Michael. Martha said to say _Hello_," Lettie said just then.

"Really?" Michael asked, and turned away for a second. He lost the rhythm of the spell and dropped the pinch of livrous serum powder in front of Howell at exactly the wrong moment.

"_Forthum_," Howell said, and then, "_Oh, shit_." He briefly saw Michael's wide-eyed look of horror, receding as Howell fainted dead away.

**x x x **

**End Chapter 1**

**Thanks for reading! PLEASE comment, if you would, even if only to say (1) you liked it, or (2) you hated it. I'd love constructive comments on the characterizations.**


	2. The Somewhere Elses

**As Others See – Chapter 2**

**By Jedishampoo** T (PG-13) for now, will change to M later (definitely). Some language, sexuality.

**Summary:** A magical misfire ends with the wrong Howls in the wrong worlds. Howl's Moving Castle (Movie) crossover with Howl's Moving Castle (book).

**Author's Notes:** This is mostly an excuse to play with the people involved and see how I might make the movie characters would deal with Book!Howl and the book characters deal with Movie!Howl. **WARNING:** Most of it will be T-rated and lightly humorous but I'll switch it to M later, for SEX. And what I plan to do to the characters is not very nice in some ways, so be warned, you may hate it. Bwah hah.. It's all so very, very, wrong, I'm sure, but I couldn't help it. You'll see. ;) Thanks to sakura haru and sharpeslass for their betas!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters in this story, Diana Wynne Jones or Studio Ghibli does. I'm just playing with them.

**x x x**

**Chapter 2: The Somewhere Elses**

"Howl, wake up!"

It was Sophie's voice. But Howl didn't _want_ to wake up. His head hurt something awful. And the little hand slapping at his face wasn't helping.

"I said, wake _up_!"

Her voice sounded concerned. He supposed that he ought to try a little harder for consciousness. And then the memory crawled into his aching skull that he'd been doing something, something delicate and probably dangerous. _Oh heavens, that awful spell_-- he tried to open his eyes. "Mwake," he mumbled.

"You had better be," Sophie said. "Or I shall dump the mop-water on you."

"Don't," Howl managed in the face of such nastiness. _What was wrong with Sophie?_ He was growing more concerned by the moment, about her and the spell, and what might possibly have gone wrong while he was out. He peeled his eyelids apart, and tried to focus on Sophie's blurry face above him. She had something reddish draped over the top of her head. _Odd._ "Hello, sweetheart," he told her.

"Huh?" she said, and leaned in a little closer. She placed a thumb and forefinger on one of his eyelids and pulled them apart. "Your eyes have gone all strange. They're a bluish-green color."

"Side-effect of the spell. It'll pass," he said, sliding one of his elbows along the floor beneath him to push himself up. With his free hand he hooked her around the neck and pulled her down for a quick kiss. He whispered against her lips, "don't worry, Love! I'm awake. I'll be all right. Is Markl okay?"

Sophie only slapped his hand away, and the look on her face, if it hadn't been so blurry, might have suggested she was considering slapping him again. "Who?" she asked. Then she turned for a moment to speak to someone behind her. "He's all stupid! Lettie, you practice magic. You should have known better!"

"Oh, God, Howl. I'm so sorry," a male voice quavered from behind Sophie.

"For what? Wait, who is that?" Howl asked Sophie, grasping the leg of the kitchen table to drag himself to a sitting position. His eyes focused finally on Sophie, sitting next to him on the floor. Something was wrong with her. Her hair was-- red? Was it the odd light in the room? He realized that the room looked wrong, too. Or was that a side effect of the spell, also? Howl realized that was not possible. "Oh, no, Sophie! What happened to your hair, sweetheart? How long was I out? Where am I? _When_ am I? Are you all right? Please tell me that you're all right!"

He leaned over to try and hug her. He'd botched his time-control of the spell, and sent himself too far into the future, or something, and things were not as they should be. Why had he ever wanted to try that spell?

But Sophie only scooted away from him, dragging her bottom across the floor, dirtying her pretty yellow dress. Her eyes narrowed.

"Who are you, and what have you done with Howl?" she said.

"I _am_ Howl. Oh, no." Howl closed his eyes and shook his head to clear it of his shock at such words. It pounded. He winced and cradled his temple in his palm.

"It looks like Howl," the male voice said.

"Well, it's not," Sophie said. "_I_ would know."

"She's got a point," the other girl said. She _sounded_ like Sophie's sister Lettie.

"It is Howl," Calcifer's voice said from somewhere around his ear. Howl glanced over and saw Calcifer, all blue-and-green, hovering at eye level. "I sent a spark into his brain to be sure. It's not _our_ Howl, though. And _I_ would definitely be the one to know that. I've known him for longer than any of you."

"A spark? Into my _brain_? Are you crazy, Calcifer?" Howl had to ask. The rest of it was too confusing, so he focused on his most immediate concern.

"Well, you were acting all weird," Calcifer-- or the thing that looked sort of like a blue Calcifer-- said. "And now we know."

"The question is, where is the real Howl?" the man's voice said. Howl looked up and connected the voice to a tall, thin and dark-haired adolescent standing behind Sophie.

"_I'm_ pretty real, I think," Howl said, burying his face in his hands again. "I've gone into the future, and I hate it. Oh, Sophie."

"Maybe it _is_ Howl, and he just went to the future and changed," the young man suggested.

"Nah, it's not our Howl, and never was," Calcifer said as he floated back over to a grate. "He's a Howl from somewhere else, and that's all there is to it. It's not like we don't know other worlds exist."

"Whoever he is, that certainly looks like a green-slime mood, and I won't have any of it, do you hear?" Sophie's voice said. "Now look at me. _At_ me! And talk. Though I know you probably don't want to, but I don't care."

That voice! Sophie was being practically cruel, and he couldn't take it. He let himself wallow in despair and regret for a few moments, then collected his more rational thoughts. Calcifer was probably right. He wasn't in the future, only some other world, or dimension, or something. And he was a wizard. He would put everything right. First, though, he would get rid of this damned excruciating headache. A wave of his fingers sent the pain spiraling away, a thankful circumstance in this world gone wrong. He grabbed the edge of the table to stand. The dark-haired young man moved forward with an outstretched hand to help.

"Don't touch him!" Sophie said. "You don't know where he's been."

Both Howl and the young man rolled their eyes at her. _Like he hadn't already kissed her._

"I'm Michael Fisher," the teenager said, shaking Howl's hand once they were standing side-by-side.

"Howl," Howl said. "A wizard," he added, with a look at the not-Sophie. Then he took a few moments to glance around the room. It was sort of like his castle, and sort of not at the same time. There were the steps leading down to the door, and the door-switch with its colors, but the switch was square instead of round. The main room itself was smaller and darker than his own, with a smaller hearth containing the blue-green Calcifer staring at him out of orange eyes. There were several doors scattered about the room, all in the wrong places. It was tidy, though, Howl could say that about it. He glanced at the girls and their sewing and cleaning accoutrements. The other girl, Lettie, gave him a hesitant smile.

"I'm Lettie," she said. She was very pretty. She looked a little like Sophie, but nothing like the Lettie he knew.

"Hello," Howl said, with his usual greeting-a-pretty-lady grin.

"Ooooh," Sophie said, and pulled a chair out at the table. "Sit. Talk."

"Better do it," Calcifer said. "She'll bully you until you do so it's best to get it over with."

"Will she?" Howl asked with some interest, and gathered his courage to look more closely at the not-Sophie. She was an almost twin to his Sophie, except for her hair, which was reddish-blond and twisted into a long braid at her back. And except for her expression, which was twisted into a look of distrust that his Sophie rarely if ever wore. But other than that, she was very like. The same apparent height, the same little figure, that pale, heart-shaped face. And from what he remembered of that brief kiss, she wore the same scent. _Oh, Sophie_, he thought, and almost lapsed into despair once more as she glared at him.

"You'd mentioned a spell," Michael said in a kind voice as he sat at the table across from Howl. "We were doing a spell, too, and um-- well-- Howl was knocked unconscious. What sort of spell were you doing?"

"Well," Howl began. He might as well tell the truth, he decided. It could only help him get home more quickly if he had help. "I found it. It was an old one, buried in my uncle's things."

**x x x**

"Howl! Oh, Howl. Please wake up."

Howell winced. It was Sophie's voice, seeping into his eardrums as if from a distance. It was still too loud. His head hurt like hell, and the floor under it was very hard. So he moaned, to show that he was alive and not liking it, but otherwise didn't move.

He was rewarded with a cool little hand that fluttered over his cheeks and his ears, and a soft pair of lips that kissed his forehead. "Howl, thank heavens. You frightened me half to death. Markl, will you please wet a dishtowel for me? Cold water!"

The voice was soft but still too loud, but the touching and the attention he had liked. So Howell moaned again, an "uhhhh" like a dying animal. He only dimly thought, _Markl_? Maybe he'd lost partial hearing, for surely she'd really said _Michael_.

"Poor Howl. Give me a moment. You knocked your head pretty badly when you fell, Markl told me. Thank you," she said, and he felt gentle fingers behind his ears, lifting his head, and then a cool, wet cloth pressed against the back of his skull. It felt nice, almost as nice as the kissing. "You've got a bit of a bump. Does your head hurt?"

"Yes," he mumbled, and raised a weak hand to wave a little spell that took care of it. He still didn't get up, but he did creak open his eyes. The pain was gone but the aftereffects of his knock on the head clearly weren't, because Sophie had an aura of silvery-white about her face.

"Oh, my poor love." Sophie leaned over to kiss his eyelids, and his mouth, briefly, and then she sat up with a smile. "How odd. Your eyes have turned the strangest color. They're a sort of greenish-blue."

"Side-effect of the spell, Sophie dear," Howell said. But not in too strong a voice, lest the pity and the kissing stop. "It will pass."

"Oh. Good," she said. Her light fingertips ran over his shoulder, his chest. The strange silver halo followed her movements. "Is anything broken? Do you think you could sit up?"

Howell sighed, and realized that Sophie's concern would only last so long. "No. And probably. Help me?" He lifted a floppy arm. It was encased in plain blue. He wondered briefly where his jacket had gone.

"Of course!" Sophie slid a dark-green-clad arm under his neck-- _hadn't she been wearing yellow?_-- and gently pulled him up. Howell managed to sit just far enough upright so that he could lean against her. Astoundingly, she didn't protest, only wrapped her arms around him. She _was_ concerned. This was a side of Sophie he'd never seen. He decided he liked it.

"Tell Michael I'm going to kill him, and Lettie, too. For good measure," Howell said, leaning his head back into the warmth of her neck.

"What?" a child's astonished voice cried.

"Michael? Do you mean Markl? Don't be silly. Why should you want to kill him? Or Lettie? She hasn't done anything to you, has she? You haven't even seen her in weeks."

It began to penetrate Howell's brain that something was not right. Not only was Sophie kissing him and holding him and being openly kind to him, but she was saying things that made no sense. If there was one thing he could say about Sophie, it was that she usually made some sort of sense, even if it was an arcane sense.

And he was beginning to realize as well that something was _off_ in his surroundings. The castle room seemed larger and brighter, and the flagstone floor was not covered in flagstones at all but in rugs and smooth, polished wood. _Oh lord_, he thought. _That damned spell_. He closed his eyes to block out his strange surroundings and tried to remember the sequence of events before he'd passed out. _The _elos_ and the _forthum_, right, _he thought.The timing had been off on the old livrous, and 'oh, shit' had definitely not been part of the spell. Still, he thought, that shouldn't have sent him off into a another world, only punished him with a small explosion or two. The spell was dangerous, sure, but his environment had been pretty controlled, Letties and Marthas and Michaels aside.

Still, Sophie was acting odd, but at least she was _Sophie_. She looked, sounded and smelled like Sophie. He couldn't have gone anywhere too terrible.

Howell turned his head to look at her up close. He was astonished to find that the silver halo was not an aura at all but her hair, cropped to just past shoulder-length and white as an old lady's. He stared. "Sophie, dear, what happened to your hair?"

Even more astonishingly, she laughed. "Haven't we had this conversation before?" she asked, and kissed him again, lips warm and soft against his. "You _are_ confused. Let's get you up, and we'll get you a glass of water and check you over."

"I'll get it," the child's voice said again. With Sophie's help Howell stood, and he could see a red-headed little boy scampering over to a tap in the corner of the castle's kitchen-- living room-- whatever. He almost said, _who is that_, and then realized that it would be an incredibly stupid question. Obviously, it was Markl. Howell eyed that red hair, and remembered Sophie's absent titian waves.

Was this the future? Was that his _son_?

"You're not really going to kill me, are you, Master Howl?" the boy asked. Howell breathed a deep sigh of relief at that _Master,_ and decided that this was probably not the future, then. Just some other universe. _He hoped._ And if this was another universe, then that was Michael-but-not-quite, and that was Sophie-but-not-quite.

"No?" Howell answered.

"Good," the boy-- Markl-- said, and handed him the water. Howell looked at it. He wondered if there was brandy here, and then decided that brandy was not really a proper priority and could wait. He sat at the kitchen table, waved Sophie off with an "I'm all right" look, and swallowed the contents of the glass. It certainly _tasted_ like good old Ingarian water.

He looked again at his sleeve, and then down at the rest of his plain blue shirt. Good tailoring, but not his, he didn't think.

"Sophie, where's my jacket?" he called in a strained voice.

The not-quite-Sophie had bustled out through a nearby doorway and was just then returning with a bucket and a handful of dirty rags. She'd been cleaning. The similarities between this world and his were almost stranger than the differences.

"I should think all your jackets are upstairs, in your closet," she said, with another concerned look from her big brown eyes. _His Sophie's eyes_. "You weren't wearing it this morning. Are you _sure_ you're all right?"

"Yes," Howell lied. Upstairs could wait, too. He looked around at the not-castle room, and saw the magic bench nearby, and then, across the way, a wide hearth.

"Calcifer? You there?"

"Yeah." Orange flames peeped out from among the logs, and then some small, yellow, fire-demon eyes. "If you are. You went somewhere for a minute there, but I guess you're back. You gotta pay more attention to your magic, pal."

"True," Howell said, swallowing his bile at admitting such a thing, even while only play-acting. He looked at the magic-bench again, at the books and bowl and packets scattered there, and knew that the bench was where he would have to start, if he wished to know where he was.

He stood and spotted the yellowed paper. The spell written upon it was nearly exactly the same spell he'd been building for the King earlier. Nearly, but not quite.

"I tried to straighten up the bowl, Master Howl, but the spell was already gone. Poofed!" Markl said from beside him.

"So it is," Howell said, looking at the blue-rose-oil extract and the empty bowl, mind racing. He would have to play it cool and say as little as possible to keep them from realizing that he wasn't who they thought he was. Well, he was who they thought he was, technically, but not really. His brain hurt again just to think about it.

Luckily they seemed to accept him as Howl, as a wizard, and to accept his odd behavior without much in the way of questions. Howell would have to be especially careful around Calcifer, though. That fire demon didn't look like his Calcifer but he certainly had his attitude, and most likely all his powers.

Howell scratched light symbols on the wooden bench with a fingernail, trying to see the shape of the events which had taken place there. It seemed this world's Howl had built nearly exactly the same spell as Howell had, and at exactly the same time. That was an impossible coincidence.

The situation was already beyond reckoning, so Howell couldn't conceive that there had been any more than two of them doing such a thing at the same time. And so, since any number higher than two in this situation was already beyond impossible, he posited that the two of them had simply switched places.

Furthermore, both spells had gone wrong, apparently at the same time. Perhaps as a result of the impossible coincidence? Or had the botched spells caused it? And there was a barrier of some sort that kept him from returning, he could feel it. Howell's brain hurt more.

"What sort of spell were you doing, anyway?" Sophie called from across the room.

Howl heard the familiar voice, and the questioning tone, and answered as he usually might have without thinking. "None-of-your-business, Miss Long-Nose," he called back.

The room stilled with something beyond silence. Howell realized too late his mistake, and looked up. Sophie was staring at him with wide eyes and her mouth hanging open. Markl and Calcifer wore similar expressions. Apparently this Howl was a different sort of fellow from he. Or perhaps he surrounded himself with overly-sensitive people. Howell tried a grin at the Sophie.

She snapped her mouth shut and _hmphed_ at him. "Obviously you're _not_ feeling well, or you would not have said such a thing."

"It was just a _joke_!" Howell whined.

Just then a short old lady with somewhat familiar eyes buried in a flabby, wrinkled face shuffled into the room. The crone looked at him, and gave a short cackle. "He's gone all wonky," she said, and plopped herself onto a couch in front of the hearth.

"And how is that not ordinary?" Calcifer said, snapping his strange little orange flames.

"_I_ think you should probably go up to bed to rest, and leave Markl to clean up the spell," Sophie told him. She was still glaring, but her voice had softened somewhat.

Howell agreed. Not only because he needed time to think-- alone-- about what was going on here, but he wanted to get into that closet. And find the bathroom. He couldn't think straight when he wasn't dressed well and groomed and ready to face the world.

"Exactly," he said, and ran up the stairs as quickly as he could.

**x x x **

**End Chapter 2**

**Thanks to those who have commented already, and thanks for reading! PLEASE comment, if you would, even if only to say (1) you liked it, or (2) you hated it. I'd love constructive comments on the characterizations, 'cause it's just weird writing two Howls.**


	3. Baths and Explanations

**As Others See – Chapter 3**

**By Jedishampoo** T (PG-13) for now, will change to M later (definitely). Some language, sexuality.

**Summary:** A magical misfire ends with the wrong Howls in the wrong worlds. Howl's Moving Castle (Movie) crossover with Howl's Moving Castle (book).

**Author's Notes:** This is mostly an excuse to play with the people involved and see how I might make the movie characters would deal with Book!Howl and the book characters deal with Movie!Howl. **WARNING:** Most of it will be T-rated and lightly humorous but I'll switch it to M later, for SEX. And what I plan to do to the characters is not very nice in some ways, so be warned, you may hate it. Bwah hah.. It's all so very, very, wrong, I'm sure, but I couldn't help it. You'll see. ;) Thanks to sakura haru and sharpeslass for their betas!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters in this story, Diana Wynne Jones or Studio Ghibli does. I'm just playing with them.

**x x x**

**Chapter 3: Explanations and Baths**

"And I woke up on the floor," Howl said. It had been a very short story. He'd left out the part about how he hadn't known precisely what the spell would do, as well as the part where he'd thought the wrong words. Basically he'd said, I found the spell, tried it, ended up here. Howl looked around the table at the expectant faces-- Michael's, Lettie's, Calcifer's, and Sophie's. It was obvious that they were waiting for him to continue. "That's it," he added.

"Um," Michael said.

"That's not very helpful," Lettie said. "Spells go wrong all the time, and yet this sort of thing never happens. Are you sure you did it correctly?"

"Um," Howl began.

"I think we can assume he knows what he's doing," Michael said.

"Thank you," Howl told him with some sincerity. He was glad someone here seemed to be on his side. Still, they were all virtual strangers. The tension in his shoulders threatened to bring back the headache; he shook his arms a bit to loosen his taut muscles, and caught a glimpse of a drooping, bright-blue and iridescent sleeve. He held up an arm and stared. "What in the world am I wearing?"

Sophie rolled her eyes. "Howl's favorite jacket. Not his best one, though."

"I should hope not," Howl told her, looking down at the horrible scalloped edges, the too-wide lapels. His fingers flew to his earlobes. Only one ear drooped with the familiar weight of an earring. "Why couldn't I have kept my own clothes, at least?"

"They're not that bad," Sophie said with a prim expression. Her voice grew an edge of sarcasm. "Would you like to change?"

"Yes," Howl said, letting despair take over for a moment again. "No offense, but I'd like to change everything. Get back to my right life, world, clothes, whatever." What he couldn't admit was that he had no idea where to start. Other worlds he had experience with; other realities were something new. "I wonder where your Howl is?" _And how many more there are,_ he added silently.

"Probably wherever you came from," Calcifer answered with a wave of his green flame-hair. "This sort of thing isn't too common. You two just switched, somehow, doing the same magic."

"The spells certainly sound similar," Michael added.

"Do they?" Howl asked with hope. He could accept this as a best-of-the-worst-case scenario. It was disconcerting enough to imagine one other Howl, let alone any more. He looked around the not-quite-familiar room again. From what little he'd seen, his and the other Howl's lives seemed similar enough, eerily so, in fact. It led him to wonder, _really_ wonder, how many other Calcifers and Michael/Markls and Sophies existed--

"Sophie!" he blurted aloud at the thought of her. The redheaded girl shot him a questioning glare and he shook his head at her. "If he's there, then I wonder what my Sophie is doing. Or what he's doing?"

"I know exactly what he's doing," the redhead told the group, crossing her arms across her chest and leaning back in her chair. "He's waking up on the floor and pretending to be you. He's very clever that way."

"It's what I would have done, if I'd realized sooner what was going on," Howl admitted. He chewed at a fingernail.

"Will your people notice the difference?" Michael asked, tentative. "You do look very alike."

"So I hear," Howl said dryly around the finger in his mouth. But he couldn't shake the new, terrible thought that he wasn't sure whether or not Sophie would immediately know that the other man wasn't him, unless the other man told her. She was so very sweet and trusting, nothing like this world's Sophie, who was even yet staring at him with an expression he would have called _confrontational_. But while he personally found _his_ Sophie's trusting nature endearing and heartwarming, it could be a liability in situations like these. Calcifer might realize the other Howl was an imposter, or even the old lady. But not, he had to admit to himself, Sophie. At least not right away. He chewed so hard on his fingernail that he threatened to break it and ruin his well-groomed hands. "What's he like? Would he hurt her?"

"No!" this Sophie cried. "He's vain and sly, but he's really quite kind-hearted."

"He just doesn't want anyone to know it. Um. Sometimes he can be difficult to deal with, if you don't know him," Michael warned.

_Well, so could he_, Howl thought silently with what he felt was great self-intuition. _Oh, Sophie._

Aloud he said, "Well, I can promise you all that I won't hurt you. Calcifer can vouch for me, I'm sure, because after all he did enter_ my brain_."

The blue-and-green Calcifer managed to look somewhat sheepish at this.

"All I want to do is find a way home," Howl continued. "And I assume you want him back?"

"Of course!" Sophie said, voice holding the same vehemence with which she'd defended the other Howl earlier. She held out a slim hand that was heartbreaking in its size, shape and familiarity. A small, reddish stone winked at him from one of her fingers. "We're engaged to be married."

"Oh, me too," Howl began, and took his finger out of his mouth to hold up his own hand, then remembered that the ring upon it was not his. He dropped the hand to his side, out of sight, and looked at Michael, his ally. "Now that my intentions are clear, can I see the spell?"

"Oh! Perhaps I should contact Mrs. Fairfax," Lettie spoke up. Her dark eyes widened with some other idea. "Or Wizard Suliman."

"Suliman?" Howl asked with some trepidation. _She_ might know what to do in this situation. But then, he'd hoped to spend the rest of his life avoiding her. And now that he knew about them, all incarnations of her.

"He's Lettie's sweetheart," Sophie explained with a sly smile.

"He?" Howl asked. He was beginning to feel like an idiot. And his head was starting to hurt again.

"Why, yes. Is your Wizard Suliman a _woman_?" Sophie asked. She looked interested. She still didn't appear to like him, but, perhaps now that her initial shock had worn off, she had lost some of her animosity. Howl decided that having this Sophie on his side could only make his time here more bearable.

"Yes. She was my teacher," Howl told her. He smiled at her, one of his own personal favorite lady-killing smiles.

But she wasn't going to fall for it. Her interested gaze morphed into another glare. She stood and looked at Lettie. "Still, that's a good idea, Lettie. Why don't you go and get him? I think we're going to need all the help we can get to set things right."

"I'll show you the spell," Michael said, standing.

"I can't leave you here, not without a chaperone," Lettie said with wide eyes.

Sophie _pooh-poohed _that comment with a wave of her hand. "I'll be all right with Michael. And if he tries anything, then Calcifer, you have my permission to _fry his brain_."

"Gotcha," Calcifer laughed.

"I'm not going to _try anything_," Howl objected, loudly, but he had the distinct impression that no one was listening.

**x x x**

Howell stood in the other Howell's bedroom, looking out the window at the white clouds and blue sky. There was no rainy backyard, no swingset, no greeny-gray Wales. He looked around the room. Nothing recognizable met his eyes; the room was packed near to the ceiling with glittering (and some quite interesting-looking) objects, but all of them were unfamiliar, and none of them comforted him in the least. He began to feel a little sick.

He looked up at the ceiling. There weren't even any spiders. _Wait, there was one_, building a web between two of the ceiling-beams. Howell watched its eight legs working and weaving for a few moments, and felt better for having seen it.

"Right," he said. He went back out into the hall and spotted the bathroom directly across from the bedroom. He hadn't had a real bath since yesterday, because this morning he'd figured on finishing the King's spell first thing.

The bathroom wasn't modern. It contained no shower, only an old claw-footed tub. He turned one of the taps experimentally. Hot water gushed out and Howell smiled to himself. "Thanks, Calcifer," he whispered. He undressed, dropping the plain blue shirt and black pants to the floor, and looked at the packets lined neatly next to the tub. _Sophie's doing, surely. _He examined the words and pictures of flowers printed upon them, and sniffed the contents of a few of them. They were close enough to what he needed.

He'd been soaking happily for a good fifteen minutes when the bathroom door opened. Howell was a bit shocked to see Sophie squeeze through the gap, carrying a couple of fluffy white towels. She laid these on the closed toilet lid.

"You'll need these, I think," she said, and set her hands on her hips, and smiled at him.

"Sophie," Howell said, with what he was sure was a scandalized expression. "I don't know if you'd noticed, but I'm in the _bath_."

She had the grace to blush a little. Watching her, he had to admit that it looked well with that strange silvery hair.

"Well fine, then. Be modest if you wish," she told him with a little sniff. She bent to pick up his discarded clothing and turned to leave.

She hadn't quite shut the door behind her when Howell had an idea. "Sophie," he called after her. He considered his words, and decided to be as nonchalant as possible. "You know the land of Wales?"

"I think you've mentioned it before." She halted but didn't turn, and he could sense her tension through the back of her green dress. "Why do you ask?"

"I was just thinking about it," he mumbled, not having heard the answer he wanted. "No reason."

"All right," she said. She hadn't left, but neither had she turned to look at him again. Howell found his eyes drawn to the curve of her hips as she hugged his clothes to her chest and leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb. It was an interesting situation, having her in here when he was completely naked. The bubbles hid everything, but _still_. It was disconcerting and rather exciting at the same time. He couldn't decide whether or not he wanted her to leave. This Sophie was _definitely_ nothing like his.

She continued in a soft voice. "You're worrying me, Howl. I _do_ hope you rest. Would you like me to bring you anything else?"

"What a little servant! You don't have to wait on me hand and foot," he told her.

A short silence greeted this. "I know you're grumpy, but I'm only trying to help," she said after a few moments in an injured little voice, and swished out, shutting the door behind her.

Howell soaked for a few more minutes, considering her. Hopefully he wouldn't be here long. Still, he would have to be more careful if he wished to keep her convinced that he was the Howell she knew, but he wasn't sure how to deal with her. Twice now he'd upset her with his normal random, throwaway comments, things his Sophie would not have blinked an eye at. And her reasonable, hurt reactions made him feel _guilty_ in some way. He hated feeling guilty.

Whenever he said something to _his_ Sophie that she didn't like, she would only gripe back at him with something unrelated. When she was really cross, she became utterly silent (and she had no idea that this was how Howell knew she was angry with him).

This line of thought naturally made him consider the other Howell. He wondered if he was there in the Ingary where he, Howell, belonged. If so, then he wondered what Sophie and Michael and everyone were making of him. Howell nursed a forlorn hope that they'd tied him up and locked him in the broom-cupboard, and were feverishly working on a way to get him, Howell, back.

Actually, they were probably petting him and feeding him chocolate and whatnot for being such a nice guy. "Grrr," Howell said, and rinsed his hair. The fluffy towels were quite welcome.

So was the bedroom closet full of clothing. Howell sifted through the hangers. He found a blue suit which was close to acceptable, though its sleeves and collar were much too plain for fashion. He found a nice white lawn shirt and tried it on with the blue suit-jacket over it. It was a tiny bit small around the middle.

"Grrr," Howell said again, and magicked the waist to make it fit. For good measure, he lengthened the sleeves and shirred the edges to give them more flair.

Once he had on the matching pants-- also slightly snug, though he left these as they were-- he checked his reflection in a tall, gilt-and-jewel-edged mirror. The blue color of the suit complemented his blond hair and his new, strange, bluish-green eyes. He decided the suit's color could stay as well. A snazzy pair of impractical black boots completed his sartorial splendor.

Feeling much better than he had over an hour ago, Howell left the bedroom. He resolutely did _not_ look out the window at the Not-Wales, but trod with confidence down this castle's narrow stairway. There was an entire crowd waiting for him in the large yet cozy kitchen/living area.

Sophie was there, her back to him as she pulled something out of a small black stove next to the hearth. Her brown eyes widened a bit when she turned and spotted him. Her cheeks flushed, again, just a little. She didn't speak, just swiveled to set a pan on a trivet at the table. Howell wondered what he'd done this time to upset her, and then he thought once more about how attractive she was despite the white hair.

"I cleaned up the spell, Master Howl. Just in time for lunch," the red-headed Markl said. The boy ran to the table and stuck a fork into the hot pan and pulled something out onto a plate. It looked like toasted cheese. Little bowls of soup already dotted the table. Howell's stomach perked up, rumbling at the sight and smells of the food.

Sophie poured tea into little chipped cups and glanced at him again, then turned away and tossed some crumbs at Calcifer in his grate. Her cheeks were practically flaming this time. Howell hadn't said anything so he couldn't possibly have upset her; he wondered if perhaps she was simply overwarm from cooking.

The flabby old lady creaked her way to the table and looked over at him. Her strangely familiar eyes examined him, up and down and up and down again, and Howell feared that he was about to be exposed. He realized just then whose eyes those were. Then he realized that she was _leering_ at him.

"_Nice_ pants," she said, and then picked up a fork to eat.

_Ah_, Howell thought, and then rather than doing what he'd planned, which had been to begin his serious attempts to do a home-location spell, he sat down to eat with them. He was bathed, and well-dressed. A little food would set him up just right.

**x x x **

**End Chapter 3**

**Thanks AGAIN MUCH to those who have commented already, and thanks for reading! Please comment, if you would, even if only to say (1) you liked it, or (2) you hated it. I'd love constructive comments on the characterizations.**


	4. Getting to Know You

**As Others See – Chapter 4**

**By Jedishampoo** T (PG-13) for now, will change to M later (definitely). Some language, sexuality.

**Summary:** A magical misfire ends with the wrong Howls in the wrong worlds. Howl's Moving Castle (Movie) crossover with Howl's Moving Castle (book). **This Chapter: More of getting to know people, character development, blah blah blah. **

**Author's Notes:** This is mostly an excuse to play with the people involved and see how I might make the movie characters would deal with Book!Howl and the book characters deal with Movie!Howl. **WARNING:** Most of it will be T-rated and lightly humorous but I'll switch it to M later, for SEX. And what I plan to do to the characters is not very nice in some ways, so be warned, you may hate it. Bwah hah.. It's all so very, very, wrong, I'm sure, but I couldn't help it. You'll see. ;) Thanks to sakura haru and sharpeslass for their betas!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters in this story, Diana Wynne Jones or Studio Ghibli does. I'm just playing with them.

**x x x**

**Chapter 3: Getting to Know You**

Howl sprinkled a pinch of pink gol-powder into the air, spoke the word, drew a circle in front of him with his finger, and stepped forward. Into an invisible barrier. Again.

He glanced over at Sophie and Michael where they sat at the table, Calcifer floating above his grate between them.

"Third time's the charm, right?" he said, in a hopeful voice. Despite his two failures he felt much better than he had two hours ago. At least he was _doing_ something.

"Are you sure you're doing it correctly?" Sophie asked in a weary voice, leaning her head forward into her hands. "It doesn't look like anything's happening."

"It's happening, Sophie, you just can't see it," the earnest Michael said. "Right, Calcifer?"

Green flames grew and shrank over Calcifer's somewhat sinister-looking blue face. "Yup. But you're being blocked. I can't tell what's causing it."

"Maybe you need more gol-powder," Michael suggested. He stood. "We were running pretty low, anyway. I should go get some more. Uh. Howl. Do you want to come with me?"

"No," Howl and Sophie said in unison.

Surprised at her refusal, Howl looked at her. He knew why _he_ hadn't wanted to go. The thought of seeing their world was an enticing one, but he would rather keep working on the home-spell. He was too worried about Sophie to waste time exploring. His Sophie, that was. He raised his eyebrows at the other one.

"We should keep him where Calcifer can keep an eye on him," Sophie explained. "And Calcifer can't go without landing the castle."

Howl and Michael both rolled their eyes. "I just want to keep working, anyway," Howl told them.

Michael only looked relieved. "I'll be back," he said, and practically ran to the door and turned the square knob to yellow. It slammed behind him, and then there was silence.

Howl grabbed a cloth rag from the bench and bent over to erase the chalk line he'd drawn on the floor. He would have to draw it again; now there was gol-powder mixed with the chalk. He wondered if perhaps Michael was right, and he'd been using too little.

"He really just wants to run by Cesari's to see Martha," Sophie said.

She was speaking to him. Howl was somewhat surprised by this. "Martha?" he asked.

"My other sister," Sophie said. She stood and walked over to a closet and returned carrying a little broom and dustpan. She handed him the dustpan and jiggled the broom at him. Howl got the idea. He bent over and laid the pan on the floor, and let Sophie sweep the chalk into it.

"My Sophie's sister Lettie works at Cesari's," he said. "It just reopened. She doesn't have a sister Martha." _Though Howl had known a Martha or two…_

"I wonder where Lettie is, anyway," Sophie said, and turned to empty the dustpan into a little bin next to the bench.

Howl waited a couple of moments, but she didn't seem to want to continue chatting with him. So he shrugged inwardly and began to look over the books on the magic bench, wondering if he'd missed something that could help him.

"I suppose I should make lunch," she began again. "You are probably hungry."

"No," Howl said, keeping his voice light and friendly. "Thank you, though."

"Hmph. Well, I'll make some anyway. Michael and Lettie and whoever she returns with may want something." She paused for a moment and looked him up and down. "Though you _should_ be hungry. You're a little thin."

Howl laughed out loud, which seemed to startle her a bit. But she'd made him feel even better. She'd sounded so much like his Sophie in that instant. "So I don't look _exactly_ like him, then?" he asked with some satisfaction.

"You look a lot like him," she replied, staring at him with brown eyes-- his Sophie's eyes, odd with that red hair. "It's rather spooky, actually. Except for your eye-color, which hasn't faded as you'd said it would. They're still too blue."

"My eyes _are_ blue," Howl told her. Since she was staring at him so intently, he felt a little more free to examine her in return. Perhaps her hair was the wrong color but Howl certainly couldn't call it unattractive. The dark yellow of her dress suited it, bringing out golden highlights shining among the pale red. With her big brown eyes, she looked like one of those fanciful paintings of _Fall in Her Youth._

His eyes involuntarily slid down to look at the rest of her. Her figure, as he'd noted earlier, was nearly exact in size and proportion to his Sophie's. In fact, he rather thought the style of her dress would suit Sophie. It had one of the new lower waists that allowed the fall of the skirt to flare out in a saucy manner at the hips. And the bodice was modest but cut cunningly just so to accentuate her firm little bosom--

The sweat that broke out on the back of his neck caused Howl to realize where his thoughts had led him. He looked away in a hurry. _Books_, he thought. _Crossing spell_. He wasn't going to ogle a strange girl. Though he comforted himself with the idea that she _was_ Sophie, in a way. And it had certainly been much longer than ten minutes since he'd thought about sex, thus disproving the statistic he'd ruminated upon earlier that morning. And he _was_ only human, after all.

Perhaps Sophie had read his thoughts, because her cheeks flushed a little. But she didn't glare at him, or slap him, only turned away to dig through the larder. Howl didn't watch her as she bent over, not at all.

"So are you from Wales, too?" she asked him after a few moments of laying out bread and cheese.

"Wales? No," Howl told her, glad of the not-silence. "I've been there. Too rainy for me. I'm from right here in Ingary. Well, you know what I mean."

"Ah," Sophie said. "Well, Howl is from Wales. If you go into Howl's bedroom you can see it from his window. He hates to go there-- he always catches cold-- but I know he feels comforted by its being there. And now I'm talking too much about personal things. Argh.."

"It can't hurt for us to compare notes," Howl said, a bit surprised. "I wouldn't have minded seeing this place under other circumstances. And you only said it because you care about him, and I can't fault you for that."

"Hmmm," Sophie said. Howl could hear her as she sawed at a loaf of crusty bread, and the thunk as she sliced at some heavy cheese. "The problem is that you're actually listening to me, as well as talking to me. So tell me some more. When are you getting married, for instance?"

"I don't know, exactly," Howl admitted. "That's up to Sophie. Soon, I hope."

"Ah," she said again. Then, casually, "Tell me about her."

_Ah_, thought Howl. She was being so nice because she was curious and wanted information. Wanted to know what her Howl was experiencing. He couldn't fault her for that, either. And conversation went two ways; he might learn something, also.

"You look like her," he said, wondering what else to say. "Except for the hair. Hers is shorter, and a sort of silvery color, very pretty. There were some things that happened. A witch cursed her, and--"

"Hmm. I know the story, I think. How very odd, that someone else has lived my life." Sophie didn't sound very happy about it. But she continued. "You're different from Howl, though."

"I'm glad to hear it," he interjected. He wasn't too happy himself to think that he wasn't perfectly unique. He did feel better, however, to think that such was a general human failing, and not simply a failing of his own. He'd been told he was vain. Of course, she'd said that her Howl was vain also. _This was maddening_.

"I was trying to say," she said with a significant look and a threatening wave of her knife, "that then it must stand to reason that she's not exactly like me."

"True," Howl admitted. So he told her about Sophie, how sweet she was, how giving, hoping that this girl didn't take it to mean that she wasn't. Once he got started, he couldn't seem to stop. It was strange to realize, suddenly, that he _was_ talking to her. It was easy, actually. Before his Sophie, he'd been rather close-mouthed himself. Of course, he hadn't had anyone to talk to, except Calcifer.

"Calcifer is practically her devoted slave, which is more than he ever was for me. And I've known him for sixteen years."

"Sixteen?" Sophie broke in. "Calcifer? You've only been with Howl for what-- five, six years?"

"It's all a drop in the bucket to a fire demon," Calcifer said.

"So?" Sophie replied. "It still means it's different. You're all different." She sounded happy at the notion.

Howl thought he knew how she felt. "We're all still special," he told her in a soft voice. He wondered if he was trying to convince her or himself. "You've been through a lot for him, I think, and that can't be discounted or duplicated. And I'm sure he appreciates it and still will, when this is all over."

"You're thinking about it too much. Oh! We're out of my favorite tea. Is that the door? Thank heavens, it's Lettie and Ben. Hello."

She sounded glad for the distraction. He could talk to _her_, but she was not the demonstrative sort, and Howl had embarrassed her. He really, _really_ missed Sophie right then.

So he looked at the returning beauty Lettie, and the sharp-featured, sober-suited man who followed her in with a somewhat dumbstruck, melty expression. Some things were universal, Howl was coming to learn.

"That's him, Ben," Lettie said, removing her coat and pointing at Howl. "Isn't it the strangest thing? Sophie, where's Michael?"

Sophie developed a mulish expression, but introduced Howl to the newcomer. Howl watched the other wizard. The man stared back at him.

"How intriguing," Wizard Suliman said. "He's not Howl. But the resemblance is remarkable."

"So I've heard," Howl mumbled to himself.

The man shook his head. "I'm sorry I took so long. I was in the middle of something important." But the expression he shot at Lettie made Howl suspect that he'd still hurried through the _something important_.

"Sophie? Michael?"

"He's getting more gol-powder," Sophie finally told Lettie. "And probably visiting Martha."

"Gol-powder, eh?" Suliman said, staring. "Nice thinking. But I don't think that's going to do it."

Howl set his hands on his hips and sized up the other fellow. He could tell instantly that he, Howl, was a bit more powerful and experienced despite the other man's advantage in years. Still, Howl couldn't turn down friendly help, not in this situation.

"Oh?" he finally replied. "What do you think, then?"

The man was still gazing oddly at him, and Howl didn't think he was being sized up in return. Suliman's expression showed that he was still clearly in the _Wow, he really looks like Howl, how can this be?_ stage. But Suliman answered, if somewhat incoherently. "I think it's going to take parts."

"Parts."

Sophie perked up. "You mean like in the yard?"

Suliman shook his head. "No, from my workshop. For me to go to your world-- dimension-- and arrange things. You," he said, pointing at Howl, "could probably manage it without parts, if you weren't so closely involved. But it was your concurrent spells that caused it in the first place, so you can't go there unless Howl comes back here. And I think it'll take both of you doing it at the same time. Hmm. This is tricky. I'll have to go home and work on it."

"You just got here, Ben!" Sophie objected. "At least eat some lunch first."

Suliman looked over at Lettie. "Don't mind if I do," he said. "It'll take a while to build, anyway."

Howl sighed. He was going to be stuck here forever. Perhaps he'd try the gol-powder spell one more time. _Third time's the charm_, he thought, not really believing it.

**x x x**

After lunch Howell figured it was time to work on getting home, to break that strange barrier he could sense, blocking his most inconspicuous attempts to cross over. But every time he approached the table where the books and spell ingredients were, Markl ran over to see what he was doing. "Are you going to try the spell again?" he'd ask, or "what do you want me to do?"

Howell dearly wanted to tell the boy to bugger off. But the ginger-haired tyke was so young, and so eager; and just too cute to rebuff. He'd made Howell smirk a couple of times during lunch. And besides, Howell told himself, he didn't want to blow his cover.

So he tried exploring, but exploring didn't get him much further. Howell first found a closet and a bedroom. The latter was full of women's things yet still managed to look completely unused. He shut the door on that room to find Sophie pausing in her dishwashing to stare at him oddly. _Her room?_ he wondered. _Did she live here?_

She certainly seemed very at home here. But come to think of it, his Sophie treated his castle the same way. She didn't live there, though, at least not yet; her stepmother and stepfather made sure of that. And she never visited alone. A Martha or a Lettie accompanied her, always.

Of course, this Sophie had the old lady-- the Witch of the Waste, though they called her _Granny _here-- for a chaperone. And she was plenty frightening, though Howell had already discounted her as a threat. Mostly. She was the same Witch he'd known, or this world's version of her at least, but she had no fire demon, no powers. The only threat she posed was possibly to his virtue. Her eyes followed him more assiduously than did Sophie's, and the look in them could be described only as lascivious.

He opened another door and found another small bedroom, tidy but slept-in. He shut the door guiltily.

"Go on in," the old lady cackled. "Just give me a few minutes to get up and join you."

"Granny," Sophie sighed, taking off her apron and sitting at the couch. She looked at Howell, then looked down quickly and smoothed her green dress. The gesture drew his eyes inexorably toward her figure. _Very_ like Sophie's, he thought.

"Don't be greedy, young lady," Granny said. "Sides, he likes it. I need a cigar."

"Two a day. You promised," Sophie said in a somewhat schoolmarm-y voice.

"All right, Miss Bossy. I'll wait 'till after dinner."

Sophie merely smiled at this, glanced again at Howell, then glanced away.

Howell couldn't comprehend it. When he'd teased her, she'd gone all injured and shocky. It must be something in the tone of voice, he mused. Or there was a history here he didn't understand, and couldn't ask about.

Frustrated, he stomped over to the last downstairs door, next to Calcifer's hearth. It led outside to a small, rounded, grassy yard.

No one followed him out, which was a good thing. But he also found no metal plates stored here, no other magic junk for spell-assistance, and that was a bad thing. Howell set his hands on his hips and looked up at the blue, blue sky, and let the afternoon sun warm him while the high-altitude fall breezes cooled him right off again.

"Grrr," he said.

"What's wrong with you?" came Calcifer's voice from beside him. Calcifer had turned around in the hearth to face the outside, and was watching Howell with narrowed yellow flame-eyes. "You've got Sophie all worried, and me, too. If you don't straighten up, then she'll never marry you, and then where will we all be?"

"It's not all that bad, surely," Howell told the little flame, thinking furiously. His eyes flew to his hand, and the ring upon it. He realized for the first time that it wasn't the right betrothal ring, his ring, and that it wasn't even on the correct finger.

He wondered again what his Sophie was doing at that moment, and realized that he missed her. He understood her. Sure, she could be a little cold, and she'd never have kissed him when he was passed out or have visited him in the bathtub, but surely that would all change once they were married. _Wouldn't it?_

"Bad? Aww, maybe not," Calcifer answered. "She'll never leave you. I just hate seeing her upset."

"You always did like her, didn't you?" Howell asked, looking at the small orange face and feeling very clever.

"Maybe," Calcifer said. "Except that time when she cleaned the fireplace and tried to put me out. Or when she dumped a bucket of water on me."

_She did that?_ thought Howell. _That sweet girl?_ He could hardly believe it. It might be pushing it, though, to try and get the whole story. So he just said "Yeah?" in a noncommittal tone.

"Guess she had to," Calcifer admitted. His flames snapped when he laughed.

Howell had an idea. "Calcifer, we've known each other a long time, right?"

"If you think sixteen years is a long time."

_Sixteen_? _History he didn't understand, and couldn't ask about_. Howell shrugged mentally, and chose his next words with care. "I need help with something. Something important. But I can't tell anyone in the house, even you, because it's a surprise. A good one. Where do I go? Who do I ask for help?"

Calcifer's eyes narrowed again and he was silent. Howell felt some trepidation at the pregnant pause, but Calcifer was only thinking. "Well, if not me, then I'd say Sophie. If not her, then I'd say nobody I know of. You'll just have to figure it out for yourself, like you always do."

"Ah," Howell said. _What a depressing life this fellow had_, he thought. No Wales to go home to. Howell wouldn't try to find it himself unless it was as a last resort, or else risk getting even more lost than he was already in this world. And this world's Howell had no apparent friends, except those here, cozy little family that they were.

But they were not his, Howell's, family. And he would have to find help somewhere. He came to a decision. He left the sun and the wind and went inside.

"I'm going out for a bit," he announced to the 'family.' He added a smile, his very best and most sincere, for the benefit of any hurt feelings. "I won't be long."

Sophie stood from the couch, and smoothed her gown again. Howell was momentarily distracted once more by the slide of her slim fingers on the green fabric, and the curves they caressed, and then he realized she was following him to the door. She leaned forward, clearly expecting a kiss. Howell screwed up his courage (odd, that) and offered her a quick peck on the mouth. Her lips were warm and soft. She smelled like Sophie.

He stood back, quickly, and turned the knob randomly to pink. The door led to a grand, bustling city. It certainly _looked_ like Kingsbury. Howell wanted to cheer.

"Will you be home in time for dinner, do you think?" Sophie asked.

"I'd like nothing better," Howell told her with complete and utter sincerity.

**x x x **

**End Chapter 4**

**Sorry for the lack of action so far, but it ain't really that kind of story. I need them all to just sorta get to know each other before I mess with their heads. Thanks AGAIN MUCH to those who have commented already, and thanks for reading! Please comment, let me know what you think! **


	5. Realizations

**As Others See **

**By Jedishampoo** T (PG-13) for now, will change to M later (definitely). Some language, sexuality.

**Summary:** A magical misfire ends with the wrong Howls in the wrong worlds. Howl's Moving Castle (Movie) crossover with Howl's Moving Castle (book).

**Author's Notes:** This is mostly an excuse to play with the people involved and see how I might make the movie characters deal with Book!Howl and the book characters deal with Movie!Howl. **WARNING**: Most of it will be T-rated and lightly humorous but I'll switch it to M later for sex. And what I plan to do to the characters is not very nice in some parts. You may hate it. It's all so very, very, wrong, I'm sure, but I couldn't help it. You'll see. ;) Thanks to sakura haru and sharpeslass for their betas!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters in this story, Diana Wynne Jones or Studio Ghibli does. I'm just playing with them.

**x x x**

**Chapter 5: Realizations **

The third time was _not _the charm. The door-powder spell had failed Howl once more, this time with an audience that included another wizard. Howl so very hated to appear foolish. Thankfully, if he left, he would never have to see these people again.

He stepped back from the invisible barrier yet again, and looked at the group eating lunch at the table. Sophie looked resigned. Lettie looked sad. Ben Suliman, however, looked impressed.

"You gave it a good go," the wizard told Howl between mouthfuls of bread and cheese. "If I didn't have an outsider's perspective, I'd have almost thought you were going to make it. Did you used to have a fire demon, too?"

"Yes," Howl said, and looked at the chalk on the floor. Another mess to clean up, and nothing to show for it except an _outsider's perspective_. He swept the floor, emptied the dustpan, and looked at his chalky, awful, gaudy clothing-- not appropriate for doing magic at all-- and had to concede temporary defeat.

"Natural talent too, just like Howl," Suliman added. He looked at Lettie and Sophie. "The resemblance, both physical and circumstantial, between two such fellows really is uncanny. And rather frightening." The girls just nodded in agreement.

Howl was tired of hearing how much he looked like Howl. He was tired of spells that didn't work. He was tired of being dirty. He was tired, period.

Still, he was nothing if not usually civil. "Did you say parts?" he asked Suliman. "How long do you think it might take to reverse this madness?"

"I can probably have something put together by tomorrow morning. We'll just need to plan a bit, of course. You'll need to tell me what to expect over there. If Howl's there, he'll know me, but I'll need to be prepared."

"True," Howl said. Just then the outside door opened, and Michael blew in, followed by yet another attractive female. She resembled Sophie and Lettie. This, then, must be Martha.

Michael's cheeks were pink and he was smiling like a bit of a fool. "Mr. Suliman! Am I glad to see you. And Howl's back! Wait, I'm sorry," Michael said, staring at Howl with a sheepish expression. "You're so alike that for a moment I thought maybe you'd done it."

"He certainly looks like Howl," the new girl said, staring as well. "Hello. I'm Martha."

"Hello," Howl told her, trying to smile. But he'd reached his limit with the whole resemblance issue. "Sophie, not to be rude, but I need to do something. Where's the bathroom?"

She flushed a bit and pointed across the kitchen to a door. Howl realized she'd gotten the completely wrong idea But there was nothing he could do about it at the moment; they'd all see soon enough. He had work to do.

"He acts weird, like Howl, too," he heard Martha say as he locked himself in the bathroom.

It was an impressive bathroom, too, Howl had to admit. It was fitted out like a bathroom in a palace, with a large mirror, a bathtub, shelves and shelves of potions, and lo and behold, a real shower. Howl tried the taps in the shower and was rewarded with a fine, misty spray of hot water. "Good going, Calcifer," he said, stripped, and went to look among the potions.

The shower wasn't as relaxing as a bath, but Howl decided he wasn't in the mood to soak. Something was bothering him; he felt jittery. So he found the potions he needed, did what needed to be done, and turned off the shower.

When he'd dried off he looked at the clothes on the floor. He hated to put them back on but he had nothing else to hand. How stupid was it, he thought, to have a bathroom on the ground floor and the bedroom upstairs? So he dressed again, hung a towel over his head, and exited to the main castle room. Only Sophie was there, cleaning up.

"Martha had to get back to work," she told him. "Michael went with her. Lettie went to help Ben. Our reputations are going to be in shreds after this. I hope you're happy."

"I'm not," Howl told her.

"Good," she said.

Howl looked at the stairs. The bedrooms were up there. He started up and then heard Sophie call out behind him.

"Where are you going?"

"To change," he said. "If you would please only tell me which door I need, I'll be out of your hair."

Sophie gasped. "But there are rules about Howl's bedroom."

"Well, what are they?"

"Don't touch anything."

"That's hardly helpful," he told her.

Sophie sighed. "I'll go with you, then, to keep an eye on you. But Calcifer is still here, so you just watch yourself."

Howl laughed, startling her again, and continued up the stairs. "I'd hoped you'd realized by now that I'm not going to try anything. I'm not a monster." _At least, not anymore_, he thought.

At the top of the stairs Howl found a short hallway. Sophie pointed to a door at its end, and Howl went in. And sneezed. He had to admit that the room was not as cluttered as his, but it was mightily dusty. Apparently even Sophie didn't come in here. _Yet_, he thought, eyeing her as she followed him in, and the ring she twiddled upon her finger.

"Well, if you're anything like Howl in more than looks, then you've probably got a reputation," she said in a prim little voice.

"Hmm," Howl answered, noncommittal. He couldn't exactly refute that particular statement, though he was faithful to his Sophie. He had no reason to look anywhere else, now. And there, it had been at least an hour since he'd thought about sex. The thought bothered him for some reason, but he couldn't fathom why. It was just another worry niggling at the back of his mind in a worrisome situation. He looked out the window at a grey-and-green scene that was somehow familiar. "Is that Wales?" he asked.

"Yes," Sophie said. "That's his sister's house."

"Sister?" Howl said, and felt very sad for a moment. "I always wished I'd had a sister. Or a brother."

"Oh," Sophie said, clearly uncomfortable, and stared at him. Her eyes were sympathetic. For a moment she almost seemed to be reaching out to pat his arm, but then her gaze became closed again and she brushed at some dusty books with nervous gestures. "Well, Megan is a bit of a bitch, if that makes you feel any better. And there I am, discussing personal things again. Curses."

Howl stepped back from the somewhat dreary scene at the window. "Well, it's about to become more personal, because I'm going to change clothes."

"Oh," she said again. She took a couple of steps back and twiddled her ring some more. "I'll turn around and stand by the door. And I'm leaving it open!"

"As you please," Howl said, and laughed at her silliness. He was not modest, and not interested in her. Well, not much, anyway, he thought, watching her graceful form as she glared at him and then spun to face the hallway.

He found the closet, and the most sober suit in it. He managed not to make any 'ick' noises at the mauve satin and lace suit, or at the awful sleeves on some of those shirts. He wondered, though, how this nice, black suit had survived among all the others. He put it on and found a mirror. The suit was slightly too large, and Howl felt pretty good about that, but it wouldn't do to look dumpy. He magicked it just enough to fit it properly, and ran a hand through his re-blackened hair. He looked pretty darn good, he thought, even if his eyes were still a little too green.

"Done," he announced to Sophie's back.

She turned and looked, and her eyes grew wide. "Oh! That's better. Mostly. You look less like Howl, at least Howl as he is now." She brushed at her skirts. "I can't believe I was in here while you changed clothes."

She looked, acted and sounded so much like Sophie in that moment that Howl didn't think before speaking. "Well, it's not like you've never-- Oh." The niggling worry from earlier grew from a pebble into a boulder, and slammed into his brain. He plopped onto the bed, sending up a cloud of dust. "Oh. Oh, damn."

Sophie looked at him and her expression grew worried; she ran over to him and slapped his shoulder. "What? What?"

Howl thought dimly that he must look really terrible to have engendered that sort of a reaction from her. He glanced down at the dusty bed. It didn't help. "I just thought of something. Sophie-- ah. Sophie sleeps with me. If she doesn't realize-- you don't think he'd--?"

"She what?!" Sophie hit him on the shoulder again, harder this time. "But you're not even married. See! You are a lecher."

He barely heard her, the thoughts were tumbling about so in his brain. He himself wouldn't, he thought. But he tried as he had earlier to imagine himself in the other Howl's head. They'd said he was sly. He had a lovely fiancee who loved him, true; but this Sophie wouldn't tell him enough about Howl, except through her silences, and those were not encouraging. His head definitely hurt now, and he left it that way.

She hit him again. "Defend your actions, mister," she said.

Howl looked up at her. "I don't have to," he said. "I'm going to marry her. It's just." He hated to say it. "What if she doesn't know? Really-- do you think he'd…?"

"Argh," Sophie said in reply, and hit him on the shoulder one last time. "If he does, then it's your fault."

"That's not helping," he said. She was misdirecting her anger again, Howl somehow realized. She wasn't sure what her Howl would do, and so blamed him, Howl. He was beginning to understand her a little, but it still didn't make him feel any better.

"I don't care. And here I am alone with you, _lecher_, but I can't leave you in here. So come on!" With those statements she stomped to the door and held it open, and pointed to the hallway. "I think I hear Michael now."

"How fortuitous," Howl said to her in a somewhat sarcastic tone that was surprising even to himself.

"Oh! Pretending to be you. What I won't do to him when he gets back," she mumbled as she followed him from the room.

That definitely did not make Howl feel any better.

**x x x**

Howell strolled the bustling streets of Kingsbury, hands in his pockets, whistling a jaunty tune from a song about shepherdesses and dukes. This was to conceal the fact that he was in a very bad mood.

Normally he might have considered his situation an adventure. There he was, in a world like one of his own, but slightly different. Gorgeous weather; the sun cast a happy light upon the city, glinting white flashes from freshly-cleaned windows as he passed, and brightening the yellow-and-red royal flags waving from every pole. There were plenty of odd and fascinating little vehicles about, chugging cars on the streets and little wasp-flyers in the air; his own Ingary didn't have such bizarre things and Howell was pretty certain that none of those had existed at any point on Earth, either, even in America.

And there were plenty of girls, pretty girls in pretty fall-colored dresses strolling arm-in-arm with fellows or each other, giggling and shooting coy glances at other fellows, himself included.

Still, Howell was not happy. He'd had no luck on his quest to find the Wizard Suliman. They'd been pretty damn surprised to see him at the castle. That was _never_ a good sign. And after he'd climbed those endless, guard-bedecked stone steps, and spoken to at least a dozen identical retainers, he'd been informed that she-- _she_-- was out today but would return tomorrow.

So, therefore, would Howell. Unless someone rescued him first. He had no better plans at the moment.

Oh, he'd tried to rescue himself. But even after finding a chemist's and procuring some spell-ingredients (and wasn't it lucky he'd found those coins in the pockets of those damned tight pants), and finding a nice, secluded spot, he'd been unable to magic himself back home. He had several suspicions as to why this was happening-- the foremost being that since he and the other Howell had been the cause of this odd switch, then they would have to reenact the exact same events at the same time to reverse the mixup. But there was no way to get over _there_ to tell the other bloke what to do, and vice-versa.

And to top off his unfruitful hours in Kingsbury, every moment he spent alone when he wasn't working magic he was experiencing guilt over his deception. He'd been eyeballing and kissing some other man's girl, one who wasn't his own fiancee to boot, no matter that she looked and smelled and felt like Sophie. She wasn't; she was a different person, a bit _soft_ was how he might describe her, and she certainly didn't deserve to be so taken in.

Mostly, he was annoyed with the guilt. He'd never been burdened by it before. Maybe it was something to do with the heart, though rationality told him this was not so; a heart was merely an organ that moved oxygen through the blood, and was not connected with emotion in any way. Maybe it had more to do with being happier than he had in a long time (until he'd gotten stuck here, of course). He'd found a girl he still wanted once he knew her. And Sophie-- the one here, was not her. But too close for comfort.

There was no chance that something similar was happening in his own world. Even if the other Howell tried anything, Sophie would never allow it. She hardly ever let _him_ get too close for too long-- more's the pity.

So there would be no cosmic justice, only his own worries about himself, and how he was to get home. And it was too late to reveal himself now. He'd just have to stick it out, and pretend to be someone who was nice and never teased anyone and probably wasn't much fun at all.

So Howell traced his steps back to the Kingsbury castle entrance, took his hands out of his pockets, pasted on a fake smile, and opened the door.

The silver-haired Sophie was there, and she turned and smiled at him when he entered. "Hello, Howl! You must have had a very good walk. You look so much better," she said, her grin as bright as the sunshine outside.

Fingers of guilt tickled at his gut again. Who'd have thought he could make her so happy by only smiling? If he'd walked into his own castle smiling like that, his Sophie would have scowled at him suspiciously and asked what he had to smirk about. That was how she showed she loved him. He missed her.

But this Sophie tripped over and greeted Howell without outstretched hands. Surprisingly, the warmth of her fingers and the delight in her grin made him feel welcome, even lightened his foul mood. Then a sharp ache reminded Howell that the love here wasn't his. For a few uncomfortable moments he wasn't sure what caused the ache more: missing what he had, or having what he couldn't.

"You've got the color back in your cheeks. I'm glad. Though your eyes still look strange," Sophie said, and her kindness broke Howell's odd moment. Except she looked like she might try to kiss him again, so Howell released her hands after only a quick squeeze.

"Mi-Markl," he called, looking around the strange airy castle room. The boy's red head appeared over the top of the couch. Howell tossed a half-empty bag of gol-powder at him. "Take this and put it away, would you?"

"Oh, good, Master Howl. We were almost out."

"Let me show you what I made," Sophie said, waving her hands. She walked to the couch and bent over to pluck something off the cushions. It was a hat, pink with rose ribbons and little white-and-green silk lilies-of-the-valley around the brim. She put it on and twirled, green skirt flying to show her shapely little calves. "It's the wrong season for these colors, but I don't think I care."

She seemed almost gleeful at the notion. "Pretty," Howell said, and meant it.

"Do you think? I finished something else but I'll show it to you later."

"Um. Okay," Howell told her, not knowing what else to say. He looked over to see the flabby old Witch staring at him.

"I still say he's all wonky," the hag said.

"He's fine," Sophie told her firmly. "And I prefer blue, but Howl, your eyes actually look well with that suit." She looked him up and down and then blushed again.

This time Howell recognized that blush for what it was. His Sophie sometimes did the same thing, though she tried to hide it. It was what gave him hope for their romantic and sexual future.

The similarities between this world and his own were as striking as the differences, and yet he was starting to get used to them. It was an adventure after all, Howell decided. He might as well relax and stop worrying; he wouldn't be able to do anything useful until tomorrow, anyway, when he returned to see Royal Wizard Suliman.

"Why, thank you," he told her, and smiled. The smile might have been a bit feral, but he couldn't be sure. He twirled for good measure. The old lady laughed.

Markl rolled his eyes. "When are we gonna eat?" he wanted to know.

Howl felt his stomach rumble. Something sure smelled lovely and he'd had a long walk in the fresh air. And climbed a lot of steps. "Dinner sounds wonderful," he said.

Everyone looked at him in some surprise. "It must have been a _very_ good walk, if you've got an appetite," Sophie said. "Vegetables and ham?"

"Still sounds good," he said.

Dinner was as jovial as lunch had been. Sophie seemed to be everywhere at first, setting out dishes, serving, cutting food for Markl and the old lady, tossing scraps at Calcifer. Unlike his Sophie at times this one seemed very matronly, like a mother or a housekeeper. Or maybe it was just that silver hair, Howell thought. Then she took off her apron and tried surreptitiously to check her reflection in a window before sitting, and again she seemed like a young girl.

There was a lot of chatter. At first Howell just ate and tried to laugh at the appropriate moments, but after a bit he realized he was enjoying himself. His Sophie rarely ate dinner with him, not since she'd become his fiancee and moved out of the castle (a backwards sequence of events if Howell had ever seen one). She and a Lettie or a Martha might cook, but usually dinner was very bachelorified and over quickly. Every now and then this Sophie shot him an odd look and Howell wondered if he was expected to be more participatory.

After a short silence at the table, and one of these odd looks, Sophie said, "If you will not tell us of your day, shall I tell you of something amusing that happened last year around this time?"

Howell opened his hand at her. "Be my guest."

Sophie quirked her eyebrow at his tone (Howell wondered if it had been too ironic) and in a show of very bad manners, set her elbows on the table. "Making the hat reminded me. And I remember because it was only a few days before the King's Birthday-- which reminds me again, have you decided what you're going to do about that? It's already the fourth."

Howell realized she was talking to him. "Still working on it. It's a surprise," he prevaricated.

"Hmm. Well, anyway, Lettie had just started at Cesari's," she continued. "She had already met a young man, of course. They were to meet in the park and she wanted a hat covered with fresh flowers. She said she wanted to look like a flower garden to impress him, which seemed rather silly, because Lettie doesn't need such things to keep a man's attention. But she _was_ very young then. And I told her the day was too warm and they would wilt, but she threw a tantrum and insisted. She wanted dahlias, and coneflowers, and marigolds. They all make very bad cut flowers for hats, you know. Chrysanthemums would have been better. I didn't even think about the-- well, anyway, she met her young man in the park, and of course it was a warm day, and the bees were terrible--"

"Ugh, bees," Markl interjected.

Howell smiled at the boy and looked back at Sophie, interested despite the utter femininity of the story. This was the most Sophie spoken since he'd arrived here, and her face was animated, brown eyes laughing, fingers weaving little patterns in the air as she told her tale.

"Bees. They followed her everywhere, of course, because she smelled so good. Her young man, thinking he was being gallant, swatted at them. One stung her on the nose, which swelled to twice its normal size. She ran home in tears and wouldn't leave her room for three days, just lay in her bed and wailed at me and said that if I had to be right all the time, then I could have at least remembered the bees."

Markl rolled his eyes, and the old lady cackled at the foolishness of young girls.

Howell laughed and leaned forward on his own elbows. "And are you always right, Sophie, dear?"

She flashed him an innocent expression. "Of course I am. You know that."

"Except when you are wrong?" Howell leaned further. He was rather surprised to find that he was flirting with her.

She leaned forward as well, until their noses were nearly touching. "But I am never wrong. It comes of being the eldest sister." She grinned. "Can you remember a time when I was not right?"

"Well," Calcifer began.

"But oh, Miss Prudence, I seem to remember--" Howell started to say, and then stopped himself just in time, remembering who he was talking to and who she wasn't, and the history he didn't know and couldn't ask about. "Wait, I've forgotten," he finished lamely.

Sophie laughed. "Of course you have," she said, and kissed him on the nose, and for a quick, brutal moment, Howell wanted to come clean. He wanted to stop deceiving them all, and he wanted to ask questions. Perhaps they could help, his desperate thoughts told him. But nearly as instantly, the feeling vanished. For what could they do but make his life more difficult? They were only a little boy and two ladies, one young and one old, neither of whom had any magical abilities whatsoever.

And he wondered again what the other Howell was like, and how big a milksop he might be, if he couldn't tease anyone and had a girl who was always right.

He scraped his chair back from the table and stood. He surveyed the cozy scene for a few moments; saw the golden glow cast over the wooden room by Calcifer's warm-colored flames, the open and friendly faces watching him, and smelled the smells of a normal home. It was more appealing than he'd thought it might be.

But relaxing was not an option after all, when he was prone to relaxing too much in front of this not-family. Howell patted his stomach and said in a hearty voice, "Wonderful food, but unfortunately I've a need to get some reading done." He looked at Markl. "Got to get that spell right, y'know."

"Are you sure there's nothing wrong with you, Howl?" Calcifer asked, little yellow eyes narrowed.

"I'm fine! Really," Howell said, and forced a laugh. "It's just been an-- exciting day. And I need to look through some of the books in my room."

"Of course," Sophie said. She looked at him closely, then shook her head and stood to begin clearing the dishes.

The Witch creaked to her feet and patted her own large stomach. "Well, I'm going out for a smoke. Help Sophie with the dishes, why don't you, young man?"

Howell froze for a second, trying to come up with a quick excuse, but then realized she'd been talking to Markl.

"All right," the boy said, and shoved another roll in his mouth before standing to help.

Howell breathed an inner sigh of relief, then realized that Calcifer was still staring at him. He needed to make his escape quickly. "Night, all," he said with a small wave, then made for the stairs.

**x x x **

**End Chapter 5**

**Thanks AGAIN MUCH to those who have commented already, and thanks for reading! PLEASE comment, let me know what you think! Am I being consistent with characterization? If not, help:) **

**Next: Messing with everyone's heads. And more. The next couple are "half-chapters" (compared to these last couple of monsters, anyway) and if it doesn't go M next chapter, the one after that fer shure.**


	6. Empathy

**As Others See **

**By Jedishampoo** T (PG-13) for now, will change to M next chapter. Some language, sexuality.

**Summary:** A magical misfire ends with the wrong Howls in the wrong worlds. Howl's Moving Castle (Movie) crossover with Howl's Moving Castle (book).

**Author's Notes:** This is mostly an excuse to play with the people involved and see how I might make the movie characters deal with Book!Howl and the book characters deal with Movie!Howl. **WARNING**: Most of it will be T-rated and lightly humorous but I'll switch it to M later for sex. And what I plan to do to the characters is not very nice in some parts. You may hate it. It's all so very, very, wrong, I'm sure, but I couldn't help it. You'll see. ;) Thanks to sakura haru and sharpeslass for their betas!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters in this story, Diana Wynne Jones or Studio Ghibli does. I'm just playing with them.

**x x x**

**Chapter 6**

When Howl and Sophie came downstairs Michael had indeed returned. So at least Howl could impress him with his jet-black hair and with how much he no longer looked _just like Howl_. He still had that sick feeling in his stomach about Sophie, but there was nothing he could do. Waiting was his only option. And Sophie was strong. She'd rescued The Great Wizard from himself, after all, and had managed to clean up his act and his castle in the process. She could fly on her own for a bit, and afterwards they would just have to pick up the pieces as usual.

Michael gave Howl a bit of a startled look when he spotted him. "Did someone die?" Michael asked.

Howl could only laugh. "I certainly hope not!"

Michael laughed in return, a bit nervously. "You're dressed for a funeral, and so glum. But you look less like Howl, now, anyway."

"Good," Howl said, for that pleased him just fine. He set his hands on his hips and took a deep breath, and prepared himself to survive the next twelve hours or so.

"I'm going home," Sophie said with a glare at both of them. "I don't suppose I should bother to wait on Lettie."

Howl found that he actually didn't want her to leave just yet. At least she was familiar. She was a bit thorny, sure, but that he could deal with and had, many times in the past, from many people.

"I'd like to go out anyway," he told her. "Shall I escort you home?"

"You! No. I'm still irritated with you."

"Why ever for?" Michael wanted to know. He glanced over at the hearth in confusion. "Calcifer?"

"I don't know what she's talking about, either," Calcifer said with a wave of his green flame-hair.

"You can't leave. You're not allowed," Sophie said over her shoulder as she opened the closet, looking for her coat.

Howl opened his mouth, but surprisingly, Calcifer interjected in his defense. "He's an adult, Sophie. _I'm_ not keeping him prisoner."

"But we need him to get Howl back!"

"And believe me, I won't miss that," Howl said, trying to hide a grin. "You think I don't want to get home?"

"He's right, Sophie. He hasn't done anything," Michael added.

Howl watched the little argument with some interest, as well as with some pity for Sophie. Michael and Calcifer were clearly enjoying her discomfiture. Her glare of steel pierced them all; she must play the martinet around here, Howl thought, even more so than his Sophie did at home. He missed her terribly for a moment then pushed the feeling away, tucking it back inside his subconscious where it belonged, along with _nothing he could do_ and _afterwards _and_ he'd better not_.

Sophie pursed her lips. "Fine, Calcifer. Traitor," she said, and tied her light brown cloak at her waist. She glared again at Howl. "I guess if you're walking with me then I can keep an eye on you, for a while at least."

Feeling a bit guilty about it but doing it anyway, Howl laughed at her again. Anyone could be a target for her fury. At least she'd stopped calling him a _lecher_. "I'm looking forward to it."

Howl watched her turn the square knob to blue, and played an instantaneous guessing-game in his head-- probably not the wastes. Kingsbury, then? But she opened the door onto a town that looked very like Market Chipping.

Outside it was late afternoon, and the slanting sunlight gave the yellow, cross-beamed houses a golden luminescence. The streets were quiet except for a few passersby, dressed in simple clothing and walking with purpose in their eyes, and a few horse-drawn carts. The air was clean, almost bucolic, unpolluted by mechanics.

Howl breathed deeply and offered Sophie a crooked elbow. She ignored it and strode ahead, fisting her little hands at her sides, forcing him to catch up. Breezes teased the loose strands of her long reddish hair, setting them dancing about her pale, stony face.

"Ben will see Lettie home, I'm sure," she said, staring straight ahead.

"And me," Howl added in a carefree tone, and breathed more of the country smells. He stuck his hands in his jacket pockets and considered whistling, but then decided she'd had enough aggravation. "Where are we?"

"Market Chipping."

"Ah, I thought so."

"Does it look familiar?" she asked. She didn't sound happy about it, as usual. Then she seemed to take a deep breath of her own, and spoke in a more conversational tone. "My mother and stepfather are in town for the fall festivals. He has houses everywhere. They'll live in Kingsbury in the spring, the country in the winter. They live in almost as many places now as Howl does. But I spent my whole life here. Curses."

"Getting personal again?" Howl teased. His mood had improved, and he wanted hers to, also. He suspected they had the same worry; they were almost in this together. So he took his left hand out of his pocket and jiggled her elbow with two fingers.

"What?" she asked, looking up at him. Her brown eyes had taken on a gold nearly the color of her dress in the fading sunlight.

"Come on, Sophie," he said, still feeling odd calling her that out loud. "Let me at least play the gentleman."

She didn't say anything snarky at that; perhaps she'd tired of casting aspersions on his nature. In fact, she didn't say anything at all, just hooked her elbow around his. She kept a regulation sort of distance, however, and focused her eyes ahead once more.

"That's my girl," he said, feeling somewhat nostalgic about it.

"You act so differently from Howl," she said after a minute or so of silence. "I know how to deal with him. And I'm still going to clobber him when he gets back."

Howl knew how she felt. "Do you often clobber him?"

"Of course," she said, and then laughed at herself. "That's why we get along so well. I don't baby him at all."

"Good," Howl said with some feeling, though he had a suspicion that she might baby Howl more than she thought. But he kept that suspicion to himself.

"I guess I just don't know how to deal with you. Or how to control the situation, getting Howl back, everything. It's out of my hands, and I can't stand it." It seemed that once she started talking, the floodgates were open. "I suppose I'll have to deal with this sort of thing all the time once I've married Howl. Still, happiness is not overrated at all, no matter what they say. Argh. I don't know what it is about you, but I can't stop telling you things."

"I don't mind. I like it."

"I know. That's probably the reason. I don't even talk to Howl like this."

"Maybe you should." By habit, or perhaps trying to be comforting, Howl tugged her elbow until she was a bit closer to him, and didn't look so much like she was being led away at gunpoint.

She let him do it. "Yes, but then I usually do or say something stupid."

"You? No, you're very sensible. I can tell." Then Howl realized he sounded like he was flirting with her.

She looked startled, but her surprise seemed to be directed more at his sentiment than his tone. "You're very smooth. But it's nice to hear it for once."

"I'm happy to oblige."

"You're too kind, sir," she said, then laughed. "See? I sounded ridiculous right then."

"No, we were both just being ridiculously polite." Howl was beginning to suspect he knew why she felt so free to tell him these things: it was because she could get a Howl-sort of perspective without embarrassing herself before the man she cared about.

Everyone had their issues, he decided. Sophie-- this one-- had some sort of fear of sentiment, fear of appearing to care too much. His Sophie had no problems with sentiment at all, much to his appreciation. Her issues had all been about her looks. But once she'd gained confidence by walking through fire and sorcery, she'd been able to move past it. And himself? He had... well, he was a bit moody, perhaps. And he was sure he had other faults.

Ultimately, though, this was not his world and he didn't plan to stay in it for longer than he absolutely had to. And if he wasn't going to worry about his Sophie back home, then he sure as hell shouldn't be worrying about this one. Still, he was. He just wasn't completely sure why.

Perhaps his silence went on for too long; she paused in her walking to stare at him, and he wondered if she was searching his face for irony or ridicule. Or maybe she was just looking for Howl. Finally, she said, "I must admit, you have a great deal of charm. So does Howl, though, so I guess it just stands to reason." She sighed and started walking again, pulling him along. "It makes one wonder how many sides one coin can have."

"I prefer not to think about it," Howl admitted.

"Me, neither," Sophie said. "It's rather freeing, not to think about it. So, when, exactly, are you getting married?"

And there she was again, _not_ helping him _to not think about it._ "I told you, whenever Sophie says _go_." He snapped his fingers for emphasis.

"Hah. Maybe she doesn't trust you."

Howl laughed at her. She was projecting again. "That's not very nice," he told her.

"Perhaps not. But I have a theory, even so. Do you want to hear it?"

"Desperately," Howl said, not untruthfully. "Give me the insider's perspective."

She chuckled at the joke. "I think she will. I think--" Here she paused for a while, and narrowed her eyes at some passing, giggling girls, with that silent, _get lost_ look she did so well. The girls moved on and Sophie practically yanked at Howl's arm, hurrying him along before continuing. "I think she probably has been very good and quiet her whole life. And now for a while she can play the part of someone who does not follow the rules. Every world has rules. Here, Howl is a respected sorcerer, one of the Royal Wizards. At home in Wales, his sister wonders why Howl doesn't have a job. If Sophie is an eldest sister-- it feels strange saying such a thing, like I'm talking about myself-- then she's expected to be responsible. But now she's being rather wanton."

In this particular instance Howl could not inwardly accuse Sophie of projecting; that scenario was something he had suspected himself. But he had no objections to wantonness on Sophie's part, none at all. In fact, he enjoyed it. Lots. And there, it had been at least another half-hour. "Oh," he said, lost in other thoughts. His smile must have been rather stupid-looking.

"And like any man, you take advantage." Sophie's voice was smug. "I believe I'm right, and it's refreshing to feel that way. Oh, look. I'm home."

"Huh?" Howl said, tearing his thoughts away from more pleasant things. He halted and looked up at an imposing, white-columned and red-bricked doorway set a few yards back from the street. A little gold plaque nailed into the bricks proclaimed it to be the residence of the Sacheverell-Smiths. The windows on the door were cut crystal-glass, and like prisms they caught the sun's last rays and spat them out into little shrinking rainbows on the stone porch.

"Nice," Howl said, thinking he should say something.

"Yes," Sophie agreed in a flat voice. Then she blew out a breath and pulled her arm from his, only to grab his hands. Her fingers were cold. "Good night. For the last time, I hope."

"Good night," Howl told her. He'd been trying to be kind to her, but her dismissals were beginning to grate on his nerves. And his ego. So he added, in a wry voice, "No kiss, I suppose."

To his surprise Sophie didn't slap him, merely stared at him and kept a firm grip on his hands. Her brown eyes were dark in the bare light of the dusk, and assessing. "You may, if you wish."

"Uh," Howl said, stupidly, and stared back at her. He took a moment to marvel at himself; how much had he changed, that such an invitation should flummox him rather than make him feel justified in his existence? He'd just never expected _that_ from _her_. He coughed to recover his aplomb, and a teasing tone. "I was joking. What about your _reputation_?"

She cocked an eyebrow at him in some sort of challenge. "No one will be surprised to see me kissing my fiancee. You don't want to."

"That's not it! Well, perhaps. I am engaged. It's just-- why all the rules and regulations?" he asked, trying to remind her of her own excuses. His intuition had failed him at that point. He could come up with no excuse for her behavior. Or for his own hateful curiosity.

Sophie shrugged, still holding his hands in her cool, firm grip. "Sisters have to watch out for each other. Mostly, though, it's to annoy Howl. He thinks he can have anything."

_Ah. _ Howl laughed darklySo he was some sort of revenge, then, for foul deeds real or imagined. Perhaps it was all the talk of wantonness, but Howl realized he was feeling the challenge. There was a healthy dollop of guilt there, too, mingling with the resident curiosity to form an oddly intriguing mixture of emotion in his belly. But how could he help it? She was Sophie, the woman he adored, in a way. A kiss wouldn't hurt anything. He'd done it before, after all, unknowingly.

"All righty, then," he said and jerked at her hands, closing the distance between them. Her face was pale and set, shining like a statue through the dimness. She didn't really look like she wanted to be kissed, though Howl thought he could detect a bit of reciprocal curiosity in her gaze. They were in this together.

So he bent his head and set his lips against her pursed ones. They were surprisingly warm given the coldness of her expression; but no, not really like his Sophie's at all. She just stood there, breathing through her nose for a few interminably disappointing instants. And then she pulled her hands from his and Howl figured it was over and began to back off.

But she'd only been gathering some sort of resolve. Her fingers gripped his shoulders all in a rush, forcing him to kiss her more firmly.

Forcing him? That was an unfair thought; Howl was participating in this foolishness, and quite willingly. Besides, he had something to prove. What, he wasn't sure. That he was something better than Howl, more tender a lover? Human nature was more powerful than magic most of the time, and made less sense. Not quite knowing what to do with his freed hands he did the obvious and familiar; clasped his fingers about her waist, warm through the plushy weight of her coat.

With his eyes closed Howl felt less guilty and somewhat more aroused. She did taste and smell like Sophie, heartbreakingly so, he thought, as he pulled her close and let his tongue tease the slippery inside of her mouth. She returned that intimacy, and after a few minutes he realized that he was enjoying that familiar-but-not sensation much more than he should. The flesh was weak, and her breaths harsh and excited.

Guilt was feeding his arousal, or at least so he told himself. At some point he'd squeezed her close, forearms pressing into her back, and he could feel more of her than he'd thought possible through that coat. And soon, he realized dimly, things would become irreparably interesting.

His arms uncrossed in a rush and Howl jumped back in a blundering manner that he hated but couldn't prevent. Sophie-- the wrong Sophie-- untangled her fingers from his hair and stared at him, as silent as he.

Her cheeks were pink in the light from the house; they gave life to that pale, heart-shaped face. Anger? Lust? Howl waited for her to slap him but she didn't, merely took her own step back.

"Hmm," she said, then yanked at the fabric of her buff-colored coat, straightening it in a very Sophie-like gesture. Her feet backed her away a few more steps, bootheels clicking on the stone pavement. She turned to ascend the short stairs that led to the porch. "I'm not her, you know. And I think I shall keep all of this to myself."

"Good idea," Howl said, unable to think of a better riposte. He felt a need to defend himself, and sought frantically for something to say. An uncharacteristic, naked admission found its way through his lips. "I do love her. Desperately."

"I know," Sophie said, and her voice held grave sincerity. "Good night."

Howl gave her a little wave, and turned into the night. The cool air was gratifyingly head-clearing. Yes, he'd been a revenge, and some sort of a test of her own curiosity. That didn't make his actions correct. Perhaps he did take advantage. Was that a fault, then?

Howl didn't want to think about it. He wandered the town, trying with little success not to think about his Sophie at home, and how he didn't deserve her, and how he wasn't going to grab hold of her as soon as he got home and never let go, only glue himself to her side like some sort of conjoined twin. He tried not think about how stupidly, blunderingly close he could come every minute of every day to losing her, and how no matter what happened here or there, he would pick up whatever pieces he could or risk a lonely, meaningless future.

**x x x **

**End Chapter 6.**

**Sorry, only one world this chapter (but it's pretty long anyway). And sorry for what happened. This one wrote itself. Bwah hah hah! Next: Howell.**

**I do VERY MUCH appreciate your comments and reviews, positive or negative, all is good. **


	7. The Wrong Thing

**As Others See **

**By Jedishampoo**

**Rating:** M. Some language, sex.

**Summary:** A magical misfire ends with the wrong Howls in the wrong worlds. Howl's Moving Castle (Movie) crossover with Howl's Moving Castle (book).

**Author's Notes: **This is mostly an excuse to play with the people and characterizations involved and to humiliate them in some ways. Well, that was sort of a by-product of the story.** WARNING: **Sex. Not TOO explicit at all; but this is ffn so I'm being careful by switching the rating. :) I give this warning not to be prurient but simply to alert those who want all fluffy kittens and may be upset. It's all so very, very, wrong, I'm sure, but I couldn't help it. Thanks to sakura haru and sharpeslass for their betas!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters in this story, Diana Wynne Jones or Studio Ghibli does. I'm just playing with them.

**x x x**

**Chapter 7**

Howell lounged on the bed in Howell's room, idly thumbing through some sort-of-familiar books of magic, and thanking his lucky stars for blessed privacy.

Away from the eyes of others he'd not needed the flattering suit. So he'd shut the door, found a comfy white lawn nightshirt, lit a few lamps, and prepared to wait out the night.

It was Calcifer's eyes that he'd mostly been avoiding. The little orange demon was figuring things out, and Howell was not yet ready for them to be figured. At least, unless he himself was doing the figuring. He flipped through a few pages in one of the larger, illustrated tomes, releasing a slightly musty, old-bookish scent into the air. These books were interesting but he doubted he'd find anything useful in them. He could only pass the time until tomorrow when he could apply to the Wizard Suliman for assistance.

Truthfully, he was hiding from Sophie as well. She was too attentive and affectionate, and he was too conditioned to be attracted to her. She kept getting so close, and tempting him with something he wanted but couldn't yet have.

So it was with no small measure of exasperation that he heard the doorknob turn and the door open, and saw Sophie slide through the gap. _Who would have thought he'd have to lock it?_ Howell wondered. But not for long. She shut the door behind her, and the room suddenly seemed smaller than it should have.

"What--" he started to ask _are you doing here?_ and then realized that it would have been an incredibly stupid question. So he recovered with, "is up, Sophie?"

"What a silly question," she said anyway. She set one hand at her hip and pointed the other at the side of the bed nearest the door. "Get over here. Sit," she ordered. "Let me look at your head."

"I'm fine," Howell said. He didn't _want_ to get any closer. She was wearing a thin sort of robe-- over what he did not know-- belted at the waist, and somehow in this room, with the bed, it all seemed more uncomfortably intimate than it had when he'd been naked in the tub and she'd merely been doing laundry.

"Now," she said, and jabbed her finger on the bedspread a couple of times for emphasis. "Or I'll come over there. Let me see your head!"

She'd probably do it, Howell decided. She was being uncharacteristically bossy, acting sort of like his Sophie. He had little choice. So he scooted over to dangle his legs over the edge of the bed, making sure the nightshirt covered everything, and prepared for his medical inspection.

The inspection wasn't very clinical. Her fingers were gentle against his scalp, light and sensual as they brushed at his hair. Even more so was the way she pressed the top of his head into her shoulder so she could bend over him. He was trapped in a little circle of her warmth and the scent of freshly-washed skin. A tendril or two of her hair brushed damply against his cheek and he realized she'd probably just bathed.

"I am a wizard, in case you've forgotten," Howell said, to break the uneasy moment.

"I haven't, Love," she said in a tone that was no-nonsense and sweet at the same time. "How could I? Every day an adventure of some kind."

_She didn't know the half of it_. "As you can see, I'm fine," he said aloud. "So you can--"

"I see," she said before he could finish, and kissed his forehead. Her fingers slid down to sit on his shoulders.

She was very close. Howell looked up at her, hoping his expression was not too pathetic, and wondering what it would take to make her leave. Again he toyed with the idea of telling her who he really was, and again he discarded it. Only a few more hours, he hoped, and he would be back where he belonged. She need not know until it was too late to punish him for his deception.

"Poor Howl," Sophie continued, smiling tenderly. "Grumpy again, and here I'd promised to show you something."

"What?" Howell asked before thinking.

Sophie took a step back and Howell was very thankful. But only for a moment, for she grabbed one of the dangling silken ends of her robe-tie and flipped it in his face rather saucily. When he didn't take the bait she puffed out an exasperated breath, setting her silver bangs flying, and pulled at it herself. Howell stared, helpless and transfixed as she opened the robe.

He told himself he was very thankful when she dropped it to reveal a pink nightdress. Not for long, though, because the gown was somewhat revealing in itself. It was long, reaching to the floor, but the sleeves were mere pink straps and the bodice sheer, and tight. It snugged against the curves of her little breasts, and he could see the slightly darker shape of her nipples beneath it.

Howell was gaping, he knew, and he felt little surges of fever-heat radiate throughout his limbs; whether it was from arousal or embarrassment he wasn't sure. He dragged his eyes up to her face.

Her cheeks were as rosy as her nightdress, and she dropped her gaze from his. Still, her words were as bold as her actions. "I made it. Aren't you going to tell me what you think?"

"Pretty," Howell said quite truthfully, and swallowed.

"Thank you," she replied, and took a step closer until she stood between his dangling, bare legs. With him sitting and her standing they were comparable in height. Her hands clasped his shoulders again and she wouldn't look him in the eye but stared down between their bodies, silent and waiting.

Howell had to still his hands flat on the bedspread, not allowing himself to touch her, to see what she might feel like. She was formed just like his Sophie, but she wasn't her and it wouldn't be fair for Howell to take advantage of their resemblance. Sure, she was practically throwing herself at him. But that was only because she thought she was with the man who loved her.

"I'm pretty tired," he lied, trying to make his tone as soft and apologetic as possible. He wanted her gone, but found he couldn't bear to hurt her feelings.

"Oh," Sophie said, and laugh-coughed, embarrassed. "Oh. I'll let you sleep, then."

But she didn't leave right away, as a woman spurned might. She patted his shoulders once, twice, then leaned over to kiss him.

She'd kissed him before but this was different, worse than before because of their situation. It was unique and endlessly fascinating every time, it seemed. Still, Howell told himself he couldn't bear to embarrass her further, had to let her down easy; and so he kissed her back. Just for a moment, he told himself.

Except this time she opened her mouth, and barely touched his lips with the tip of her tongue. Howell couldn't resist a taste. And yes, the inside of her mouth was as excitingly slippery and sweet as Sophie's.

For his Sophie had let him kiss her this way once, for about half a minute, before she'd slapped him. This one, however, only made happy little noises and pressed closer, and Howell realized he'd let his hands roam over her back, and she was pliant and warm and it had been a very long time since he'd been wrapped around a half-naked woman in such a way, and it was lovely.

His Sophie was playing by the old rules, frustrating him with her constant company. This one, in this world, should have been doing likewise. Yet this world's Howell, despite apparently being such a nice guy, had managed to get his girl into bed with him. Howell had to congratulate him for that, at least.

The thought didn't last long; those delightful breasts he'd so admired earlier were pressed against his chest, and he found that one of his hands had slipped around her side, and that his thumb was tracing the curve of her soft, feminine flesh. This only provoked her to moan and lean into his hand, and gasp little excited breaths into his mouth.

How often had Howell looked at Sophie-- even this one-- and imagined holding her this way, getting his hands on those womanly curves? Here was his chance, half-unwrapped and shoved into his arms like a gift from the heavens. And yet she didn't know who he was.

As desirable and willing as she was, what he wanted to do was wrong. If there was a Hell, then Howell would go to Hell for that, surely.

He didn't want to find out about Hell. He yanked his hands back to the safety of the bedcovers to keep from touching her further. He would enchant her, put a spell on her that would make her back out the door and forget she'd ever been here.

And just then she backed off and Howell wondered if he'd whispered the spell without knowing. But no, she was only reaching up to untie one of the straps to her nightdress. They had ties. He hadn't noticed that earlier. And she was undoing one of them.

Howell stared, transfixed as a trapped animal once more, as the thin, blush-colored material fell away. His brain couldn't conjure the words of an appropriate spell. Her breast was as lovely and round as he'd imagined. One touch wouldn't hurt. Howell was going to Hell.

He clasped the warm weight of her flesh in his fingers, feeling the delightful scrape of her taut little nipple against his sensitive palm. Then before he realized it he was kissing the other breast, running his tongue around sweet, soap-tasting skin, and she moaned and called him her love.

And she was so many things and Howell felt them all; she was his Sophie but not at the same time; what could be, what could have been, everything all in that moment. Then her gown had fallen to the floor and she was gloriously naked and trying to crawl into his lap. Her fingers crept under the collar of his night-shirt at his nape, and they were enchantment on his skin, the sorcery of the flesh. And he was going to Hell and he didn't care, because he wanted her, painfully in fact, and she thought he was the man who loved her. And for the moment he was; he loved her desperately.

"Sophie," he said, and rolled her onto the bed under his propped elbows. And she only said "yes" and wrapped her thighs about his hips and her fingers traced more of those sorcerous lines up his sides, under his nightshirt.

In that moment she wasn't any of the things he'd imagined her to be-- not a sensitive girl or a motherly, housekeeper-sort-- just a passionate woman, unaffected and sensual, a deadly combination. Howell closed his eyes and let sensation take over, buried his face in the cool damp of her scented hair, heard her soft voice (Sophie's voice) encouraging him as he moved inside her, felt the tight grip of her around his aching, sensitive flesh. It was all just too perfect.

It might have been better if it had been a little less perfect. If she had just lain there, not tried to move, not made those lovely little noises-- After only a few minutes of this blissful activity, Howell felt his gut tighten, that breathless moment, and then the lovely and yet unavoidable release.

It had indeed been too long. He was like some green university lad, too quick on the draw. He couldn't look at her, he couldn't. He collapsed on top of her, breathless, and buried his face in the covers above her shoulders. And waited. He was sure his cheeks were flaming.

But there were no recriminations, nothing awkward, nothing he deserved; only soothing fingers on his back and the sound of breathing.

After what must have been a few minutes Sophie's gentle voice broke in on his humiliation.

"Howl, are you all right?" she whispered.

"Yes. Why?" was all he could manage.

Another few seconds passed. She spoke again, and now there was gentle teasing in her voice. "You hadn't moved a muscle in five minutes, at least. I thought perhaps you'd died."

_Only of shame_, Howell thought. He had plenty of reasons, after all. He didn't say it aloud. But he did roll to his side so she could move, and he lay facing the general vicinity of her chin. He was a coward. What would the other guy do? Probably say he was sorry. Howell supposed he owed her _something_. "Sophie, I didn't mean to do that," he said. He hardly choked on the words at all.

"What do you mean?"

_She didn't know?_ was Howell's first thought. His second was, well, maybe she was used to it. Maybe the other fellow did this to her all the time, and she didn't know any better. The thought was enough to make Howell feel a little bit better, at least. He risked a glance up into her eyes. They were warm brown in the golden lamplight. She was smiling.

"What a day," he said, with plenty of feeling.

"My poor love," Sophie said, and clasped her fingers around his back, under his nightshirt. "Was it difficult?"

It had been very difficult, but he couldn't really tell her why. And now he wanted to die and yet she was expecting to be held and talked to.

And why shouldn't she? She didn't realize she'd just given her body to a stranger. And he hadn't even removed his nightshirt. He couldn't think of anything to say.

Her free hand, the one not buried underneath him, slid around to pat him on his stomach. "I think you've gained some weight. I approve."

Howell would swear his heart stopped. He was mortified. He couldn't even breathe for a few moments. _Was she saying he was FAT?_ How could she say such a thing? Finally he croaked out, "What?!"

Sophie gasp-laughed, and to make it immeasurably, infinitely worse, she _squeezed his side._ "Don't look so horrified! I like it. You needed a few pounds."

Howell just stared at her, mouth agape. He wanted to scream. Was his humiliation never to end? She looked so earnest, and her caressing fingers were playing merry havoc with the nerves in his abdomen. How could she look so earnest, and touch him in that way, and yet say such a thing? "Eh," he meeped.

"Oh, Love, I'm sorry!" she said then, and squeezed his bottom, and kissed his chin. "I know you're tired."

Howell knew he was going to glare at her, so he rolled over onto his back and shut his eyes. He may have been royally miffed but he couldn't scream at her, not after what _he'd_ done. "You can't even know the time I've had of it," he told her, quite truthfully.

"That bad?" She was kissing his shoulder. It was meant to be comforting, but it was a bit tickling and arousing.

"That stupid spell. I knew it was nothing but trouble. I'll never be able to face the king again. I'll have to run away."

"Oh, is that who it was for? I'd wondered." She was running her hand along his hip.

"Uh, yes," Howell said. He'd almost let something slip, there. She was distracting him with all her touching and kissing and nakedness.

"Well, you'll figure something else out."

"I doubt it. That's the one. What a load of trouble."

"Poor Howl." Her fingers were running alongside the inside of his thigh. It was more than he could take.

"Would you stop saying that?"

His tone was nasty; her fingers and the kissing stopped all at once. She was silent. Howell opened his eyes to see an awful, surprised look at on her face, like a child that had been slapped. Her mouth was slightly open.

"Huh," she said. "I'm sorry." She rolled over, facing away from him, and lay there for a minute or so.

Howell felt awful. He was some kind of monster. Not only was he deceiving her terribly, but he was being an ass.

Sure, he was frustrated at being stuck here in the wrong world. _And she'd said you were fat_, an evil, inner voice reminded him. Contrite Howell remembered that well, yes, so the _other_ Howell's pants had been a little tight on him. He was still getting used to the existence of a contrite Howell. He didn't know why this woman made him feel so guilty.

But she'd cared for his injury, given him fluffy towels, made food for him, and had given him her amazing body sweetly and sensually and without reservation. All he did was take, take, take, and then snap at her over something that was not her fault. He _was_ going to Hell.

He owed her another-- _something_. "Sophie--" he began.

"Don't," she said. She sat up and dangled her legs off the edge of the bed, still facing away from him, then stood. Outrage and hurt showed in every inch of her expressive little figure. "I should have left you alone. I just thought--" and here it seemed that her voice cracked a bit. She shook her head, silver locks flying.

"Sophie--" Howell began again, reaching out to her.

"Oh, never mind." Sophie bent over, giving him a lovely view of her rounded backside. He was a lecher. He was a monster. She was digging around on the floor beside the bed. "Where's my nightgown? Where's my robe? Argh!"

Howell scrambled over to the edge of the bed and caught her, wrapping his arms around her, and buried his forehead in the nape of her neck. Her hair hadn't even dried.

"Sophie. I-- I wasn't myself." Howell couldn't believe that was the best he could come up with. At least it was true, in a way. But he was going to make a terrible husband. Still, he felt some of the tension leave her muscles.

"I knew you were tired," she said.

And that made Howell feel even worse. He kissed her shoulder, the salt-sweat-soap-skin-taste of her. The other Howell was going to kill him. And he deserved it. On top of all his other sins, he'd made the other fellow's girl cry.

But he found that now, after making love with her, it had become for him something beyond 'the other fellow's girl.' Now it was intimate, personal. Between himself and Sophie. Not just "this Sophie," but Sophie.

"Look at me," he whispered. Howell turned her around to face him in the circle of his arms. It was a parody of their earlier position, when she'd first come into the room. He'd done the wrong thing before, and he sensed he was going to do it again. But this time, he was bloody well going to do it correctly.

Sophie gave him a little smile to let him know she might be willing to forgive him. The sun shone; Howell's entire body tingled with its light. He thought of her wrapped around him, and of the taste of her skin, and felt a tingling, throbbing ache in his belly. He wanted her, more than before.

He hadn't even kissed her properly. And he wanted to. If he was going to be murdered, then at least wanted to make it all worth it, and to do his best to make her feel better.

"Dear Sophie," he whispered, and cradled her cheeks in his fingers, admiring her pale, lovely skin in the lamplight, and the way its warm glow gave her hair the barest sheen of gold. And this time he kissed her tenderly rather than all in a schoolboy rush, and savored the feeling of the slow sweep of her tongue against his, and the silken feel of her flesh under his fingertips. And this time, when he lay Sophie back onto the top of the gold bedcovers it was not the same at all, just infinitely more lovely to feel her stomach muscles moving under his and to taste the sweat on her shoulder. For bits and moments through it all, he _was_ madly in love with her. He said things, things that meant everything and nothing, and he forgot them as soon as he'd uttered them. And when he heard her gasps and cries and felt the tight contraction of her climax around him, he thought it the most wonderful thing in the world.

And later, as he drifted off with his arm draped over her naked, sleeping body, he wondered if this was what it would be like with his own dear Sophie. And he wondered whether or not he could ever learn to be a good husband. And if there was a Hell.

**x x x **

**End Chapter 7.**

**AGAIN, I do VERY MUCH appreciate your comments and reviews, positive or negative, all is good and HELPFUL. This scene is actually what made me think of writing the story. What do you think? How about the way the Sophies are portrayed? It's been weird writing it due to everything having to be in the Howell/Howl's POVs, and in one case the Sophie doesn't know what's going on. Yet. Heh.**

**Next: back to two worlds per chapter; sorry, but these two were longish chapters and I had to make some last-minute changes to this one based on events a couple of chapters down the road. **


	8. Discovery and Getting Home

**As Others See **

**By Jedishampoo**

**Rating:** M overall, this chapter T. Some language, sexuality.

**Summary:** A magical misfire ends with the wrong Howls in the wrong worlds. Howl's Moving Castle (Movie) crossover with Howl's Moving Castle (book).

**Author's Notes: **This is mostly an excuse to play with the people and characterizations involved. It's all so very, very, wrong, I'm sure, but I couldn't help it. Thanks to sakura haru and sharpeslass for their betas!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters in this story, Diana Wynne Jones or Studio Ghibli does. I'm just playing with them.

**x x x**

**Chapter 8: Discovery and Getting Home.**

Howl woke from an incredibly erotic dream. It had involved both Sophies. A Martha and a Lettie-- or two-- might have been involved as well; he couldn't be sure.

He lay stretched out on Howl's bed with his head on Howl's pillow, studying the cobwebs criss-crossing the ceiling beams, strands glowing silver in the pre-dawnlight leaking through the gaps in the curtains. He tried to remember the dream. Sophie had-- wait, he couldn't remember. Had there been a swing-set in there, or perhaps a mud puddle? But the threads of the dream disintegrated as he tried to catch them, fading like the aroused tingling in his limbs.

He flopped an arm onto the bedcovers, sending up a spray of dust. He sneezed. He was alone.

The haziness cleared from his brain, and niggling guilt returned. It wasn't guilt over the dream; one couldn't help what the subconscious cooked up. One could only control what one did. And Howl wasn't sure he'd done a single correct thing in over twenty-four hours.

He'd heard it said that night was a time for fanciful imagination, that known or unknown pleasures or perils were enhanced by virtue of lurking just out of sight in the dark, and that the cold, hard light of day banished all the mystery.

As a wizard Howl knew better. Life held few such mysteries for him, so when he was presented with one as he was now, in this world, he felt at a loss. Everything had gone wrong, and he'd been able to do nothing to fix it. Powerlessness was an annoying sensation.

He'd been restless last evening after leaving Sophie, and so he'd explored the town a bit but had found no delights to tempt his interest past a glance or two. Kingsbury as well had offered nothing. Michael had even given Howl directions to Suliman's residence and Howl had stopped by to offer his help. It had been past ten and Suliman had declined sleepily but promised to be by first thing in the morning.

Howl wondered when _first thing_ might be. Probably not now, when the morning was still grey and even the earliest birds had not yet ventured out to catch their worms. Probably a couple more hours, at least. Waiting was hell. Howl did know he would get no more sleep.

He swung his legs out of the bed, then grabbed a blanket, shook it free of dust, and wrapped himself in it. In the hall he could hear Michael snoring behind one of the closed doors. Downstairs, Calcifer had his head bent but popped up when Howl came into the kitchen.

"Hey there, Calcifer," Howl said in a low voice. He dragged one of the kitchen chairs over and situated it in front of the hearth, then sat and stretched out his legs to warm his feet just like he often did at home.

Calcifer's round blue face stretched and elongated, spreading tendrils of green flame upwards. A couple of sparks crackled out from the logs, stopping just short of Howl's bare feet. His yellow eyes opened a crack or two. "You're not here to talk about Sophie again, are you?"

Howl chuckled. Perhaps he _had_ been a little long-winded last night when he'd returned to the castle, before he'd finally gone up to bed. He'd spent an hour or so waxing poetic to Calcifer and Michael about his own Sophie, trying to make himself forget the one from this world. "Nope."

Calcifer yawned, a short growlish crackle. "So are you ever gonna tell me what you did to make Sophie angry?"

"No." Howl crossed his arms. That made more sense than it should have. Calcifer was too sharp. Howl briefly considered sharing his woes and his worries, then decided against it. "I'm not sure she _was_ angry, actually."

"Yeah. It's kinda hard to tell with her, sometimes."

"Yup." Howl chuckled in return. Half-memories of his dream floated just on the edges of his consciousness, ephemeral as wisps of smoke, untouchable and yet adding to his general feeling of keyed-up unease. He rubbed his fingers half-involuntarily, lightly, at his lips. He had kissed her; that had not been a dream. That he'd enjoyed it was undeniable and unsettling. Guilt and stimulation and restiveness coiled and knotted hard in his stomach.

He had to stop worrying. He wouldn't kiss her again, and that was the end of it. Because if _he'd_ done _that_, what was the other Howl capable of? Howl shook his head to stop the discomfiting thoughts.

Calcifer was watching him out of yellow eyes. "You didn't sleep long."

"No. Are you concerned about me?"

Calcifer pffted a bit of smoke. "Of course not."

Howl smiled. Good old Calcifer. "So how early do they start around here?"

"Depends on what's going on. When Sophie lived here, pretty early. Now, not so much."

Howl stretched his legs, settling into a more comfortable position on the hard wooden chair. "Sophie would be getting up right about now," he said, dreamily. "Making breakfast, and tea. I'd never hear a thing. She'd come wake me if I didn't smell the bacon soon enough, because otherwise--"

"You're doing it again," Calcifer said in a long-suffering voice.

At this Howl laughed and laughed, bent over in half, releasing much of his tension. "So I am. I don't suppose you'd heat a kettle for me, would you?"

"If it'll shut you up."

"I'm shut." Howl boiled some water, steeped some tea, and drank. There, see? He _could_ relax. He'd used to be very relaxed, once upon a time. He was stoic. He was a cool, still pond on a spring day. The sun was up now, shining happy light through the windows, and yes, the birds were chirping. _Soon, then?_

No. He was stoic. He was--

"Sophie will be all right," Calcifer said into the silence.

_That wasn't helping._ "Which one?" Howl asked, bleakly.

"Both. Sophie's a witch, you know."

This was new information. Maybe it would explain-- but no, Howl couldn't blame her for that. That had been all him. "Mine's not," he said.

"Are you so sure?" Calcifer asked, a sly undertone coloring his growling voice.

Howl thought about it for a bit. _No_, he decided at last. She was extraordinary in every way he found wonderful. But she was no witch, just delightfully normal. "Yes, I'm sure," he said.

"All right, then. If you say so. Oh, guess who's here?"

The stair door swung open with a whistling whoosh of air. Howl swung around to be greeted by the second most delightful sight in the world. It was Sophie and Lettie, blowing in on the sharp morning breeze, followed by a taller figure, grey-cloaked and grey-faced. It was Wizard Ben Suliman.

Howl released a whoop of delight. "Welcome!" he said to them.

The girls were fresh-faced and bright-eyed and fall-colored, Sophie dressed in dark orange under her cloak, and Lettie in red. Both of them wore their hair down, an informality that only added to their prettiness. It wouldn't have mattered to Howl, however, if they'd both been hags. He was too happy to see them.

At his greeting, Lettie waved, then looked down at his bare legs and giggled. "You really don't look very much like Howl, now. I like the black hair, though."

Sophie, however, barely glanced at him, only quirked an eyebrow before turning away to hang up her coat. Her unbound red hair whirled in a circle about her. "Shouldn't you be dressed?" she asked.

"Does it matter?" Howl asked. Who cared for appropriate clothing? He was going home!

"Sophie, you could have waited until I'd had-- oh, you have tea," Suliman said, shedding his grey cloak and plopping a black satchel upon the kitchen table. "Please, please, let me have some."

"Sure," Howl said, and fetched another cup. Upstairs he could hear Michael scrambling out of bed and thumping about. "So did you figure it out? Are we ready?"

"Yes, yes," Suliman said, waving a hand at Howl and sitting down. Lettie joined him at the table and Suliman smiled at her. Howl fetched another two cups. "I would have liked to sleep, but these girls were knocking at my door before first light, demanding we come over here."

"It was Sophie," Lettie said. "You were up anyway, Ben. You said you were just finishing."

"I was," Suliman said, and smiled at her again, rather stupidly, Howl thought. Then Suliman turned his gaze to Howl. "You're right, Lettie. The resemblance _is_ less marked now. But shouldn't you be dressed, sir?"

"Yes, yes, fine!" Howl said. Suliman's tone had suggested Howl was committing moral turpitude by appearing half-naked in front of virtuous young ladies. He glanced over at Sophie, who still resolutely had her back to him. Then he ran upstairs to find the black suit from yesterday.

When he returned Suliman was still sipping tea, Sophie was doing dishes, and Lettie was emptying the black satchel. It contained only three things: a small, oval, vanity-sort of mirror in an iron frame, and two… candles?

Lettie took the mirror and one candle over to the magic bench. Howl raised an eyebrow at Suliman and tried to conjure a question in his brain that wouldn't sound _too_ stupid.

Just then Michael rumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen. "Mr. Suliman! You're here early," he said. "Hello Sophie, Lettie. Is--"

"Martha wouldn't get up this early. You'll see her later," Sophie called over.

"Good morning, Michael, Howl," Suliman said. His sharp face looked less grey than before. He was obviously one of those people who needed a hot drink in the morning before becoming fully human. "Glad you're here, Michael, because now I can explain to everyone at once. The mirror is my anchor, a beacon back to this room. One candle is for you, Howl, and the other is for Howl."

Howl picked up the remaining slim, white candle from the table. It was about the length of his hand. It smelled of blue-rose oil. "A timer?" he asked.

"Yes. I'll light them, then go to your home and give one to Howl. Then I'll come back and do a backup switch-spell. Right when the timers run out, you and Howl should perform your own transport spells. Then we'll have Howl back."

Howl stared at the candle in his palm. It sounded too easy, especially after all the trouble he'd had yesterday. "You could have gone there any time?" he asked.

"Well, it took me a while to realize that you probably could have sent me. I had a great deal on my mind, and I don't often encounter this sort of problem," Suliman defended himself. "I still had to devise timers, and an anchor. You can just do your gol-powder spell to send me."

"Hmm," Howl said, and shrugged inwardly. He couldn't be angry at someone who had taken such a great deal of his valuable time to help him. It all made simple sense, too. "Right. Thanks." He lay the candle on the table and set his hands on his hips. Soon he would be back home, with Sophie.

The kitchen room, the people here, all suddenly seemed surreal. The morning sunlight forced its way through the windows only to become a yellow haze; the figures of Michael, Sophie, Lettie and Suliman floated through it in slow motion, animated statutes that were distinct but illusory. This place didn't really exist, and Howl would wake soon and never see it again.

"I'll need something to say."

"Huh?" Howl said, snapped out of his odd, dreamlike state by Suliman's voice.

"A word, a phrase, something to tell the people there. In case Howl isn't in the room when I appear. So they don't panic."

"Oh." Howl had to think for a few moments. The only things that leapt immediately to mind were too… intimate. Too private to share with these people. He might have entrusted Sophie with some of them, but she was still ignoring him with stubborn purpose. "Tell Sophie-- tell her-- I said she'd make a great pilot."

"Hooo-kay," Suliman said. Lettie laughed.

"A what? That doesn't sound very romantic," Sophie called over her shoulder in an accusing tone.

Howl was going home. What did anything else matter now? "Well, there's more you can tell her, then."

**x x x**

Howell awoke from a dreamless sleep with a vague sense of unease. He was half-buried under a mound of covers (were they gold? Ick.) and he was not alone. Sophie's warm body was curled next to his, and in the misty, just-before-dawn light, her hair was an expanse of glowing white, splayed across her pillow. She was snoring lightly.

Howell stared at the distressingly clean ceiling for a few minutes, feeling an odd, and unaccustomed, little cauldron of emotion boiling around somewhere under his breastbone. Regret, and not-regret, anticipation and anxiety, tenderness and tension; much of it centered around Sophie. Both of them. He wondered what he was going to tell his Sophie at home.

Then he realized: he was going to tell her absolutely nothing. He couldn't help what had happened, after all. He was a wizard but he was only _human_. His guilt, and his memories, were his own.

Being careful not to wake Sophie, Howell rolled off his side of the bed and located the blue suit from yesterday. He dressed and tiptoed downstairs into the living/kitchen area, where only Calcifer was awake. The little fire demon hunkered over a log and peered up at him, popping lazy floating sparks up into the chimney.

Howell considered turning around and heading back upstairs, or even out, to avoid Calcifer. But truth be told, he was feeling a bit more confident than he had last evening. He'd been play-acting so well, he'd almost become a part of this world. Half of being a wizard was deception; pretending utter coolness into existence. And he'd always rather fancied himself a bit of a social chameleon when he'd needed to be. Besides, Calcifer had absolutely no reason to mistrust him, especially since Howell had spent the night and caused no major uproar.

"How's it going, Cal?" Howell half-whispered at the grate.

"Not bad," Calcifer said. "I've been thinking."

"What have you been thinking?" Howell asked, digging around in the cupboards for a teapot and a clean cup. If he happened to find some brandy or something even better, well, then that would be quite all right.

When Calcifer didn't answer Howell turned back around to look at the grate, and was a bit startled to see the little orange flame hovering only a couple of inches away, somewhere at the level of his eyeballs. Before he could say or do anything Calcifer grew and elongated, flaring green and blue like Howell's own Calcifer, then shrank back into a flaming orange ball. The look on the demon's face was rather smug.

"Whoa!" Howell cried.

"I've been thinking that I was right. You aren't Howl," Calcifer said. "I can't believe it took me this long to figure it out. Hey, Sophie!"

"Shhh! Don't wake her," Howell said, waving his hands frantically. He lowered his voice. "What are you talking about?"

"You know darn well what I'm talking about. You're not our Howl. When Howl went somewhere yesterday, he never came back. You did. What did you do with him?"

Howell's game was up. And he'd been so close! He frantically searched his brain for a way to recover whatever pieces he could. Surely he could make Calcifer understand, at least.

"Keep it down, will you? I didn't do anything with him. It wasn't my fault. I'm just trying to get home," Howell admitted. "C'mon, Cal. Help me out. I was going to figure something out today. I think I know someone who can aid us."

"Help you out? After you pretended to be Howl?"

"What was I supposed to do?"

"You've got a point, there," Calcifer admitted. And at least he'd lowered his smarmy little voice. He flared green-blue again for a brief moment, then shrank once more. "I can't send you back. I wonder where Howl is?"

_Phew_, Howell thought. Calcifer was coming around. _Good old Calcifer_. "Most likely, he's stuck in my world. And probably trying to get back here. I'll go, quietly, I swear. Really, you've got to help me."

"What do you want _me_ to do?"

"Well, don't tell Sophie right away, for one thing. There's no need to upset her." Howell put on his most innocent, virtuous expression.

"I suppose you're right," Calcifer said.

"I'm going to find Wizard Suliman," Howell continued. "He-- I mean, _she_ can probably get me home."

Calcifer's yellow eyes widened. "You gotta be crazy. You can't go to her! She'll--"

"Good morning! What's all the ruckus?"

Howell and Calcifer both swiveled. Sophie, dressed in her robe and slippers, was coming down the steps and smiling at them.

"Nothing, Sophie," Howell said, smiling in return. "Just chatting."

"Sophie, this isn't Howl," Calcifer said, matter-of-factly.

"Calcifer!" Howell moaned.

"What?" Sophie said, forehead wrinkling.

"Shut up, Calcifer," Howell said, and turned to Sophie. "We were just messing about. How are you this morning?"

"Don't listen to him, Sophie." Calcifer had zipped about, around Howell's outstretched hand, to float near Sophie's shoulder. "Howl went somewhere, and this one was sent back here. He's not our Howl. Want me to take him out?"

"Calcifer, you're a dirty traitor," Howell said, and turned his hand palm-up, pleading. "Sophie, I can explain."

"What? How?" Sophie's voice was a strained whisper. As Howell watched, her pink cheeks drained of all color, leaving her deathly pale, as white as her halo of hair. "Your eyes are _green_. When?"

"Probably yesterday," Calcifer blithely continued, watching Howell with that smug expression, unaware of Sophie's intense distress. "Remember that spell that went wrong? He's been here since then. Want me to fry him? I can fry him."

"Sophie, I'm--"

"Oh. Oh, no." As Howell gazed at her in some horror, her face seemed to fall apart, pretty features distorting with anguish. She swayed a bit, then closed her eyes. She sounded like she was coughing, but she was crying; streams of tears were dripping down her cheeks. She whipped around and took off running back up the stairs, making choking sounds. "Oh. Oh! Oh!"

She'd taken even Calcifer by surprise. The flame's yellow eyes widened. "Sophie!"

"Now you've gone and done it, Calcifer," Howell said. He backed into a chair and plopped into it. He was sure he was going to be ill. He didn't know what to do. Usually by the time a crying woman was involved, he was long gone.

He would have to run. He could go like he'd always done, and leave Calcifer and Markl and their pet witch to deal with the situation. It wasn't his problem, was it? Why hadn't he run?

A door opened and the pet witch in question waddled out. "What's all the ruckus?"

Howell only laughed bleakly. Was the whole awful scene to be repeated?

"I didn't think she'd do that," Calcifer said, somewhat abashed. He just hung there in the air by the stairs as if he didn't know what to do, either.

Howell closed his eyes, and tried to decide why he hadn't yet escaped. A slight, creaking noise broke the silence, and a _tap, tap, tap_ of tiny feet on the floor. There was a small, odd wheeze. Howell opened his eyes to see a short, ancient-looking white-and-brown dog at his feet. The dog narrowed its eyes and wheezed at him.

"Do you have a _dog?_" Howell asked the witch, and then realized that it had been a completely idiotic question. He looked at the dog and waved a finger at it to see if it turned into something else. It didn't.

"Get 'im, Heen," the old witch said, plopping herself onto the sofa.

Then Howell was distracted by giant thumping noises filtering through the ceiling, and after that, pounding noises on the stairs. It was Sophie again, running back down the steps.

"Out! Get out! Out of my house!" she screamed at him. Her cheeks were pink again and still wet with tears, but Howell could have sworn that her brown eyes were blazing with red sparks. She fisted her hands and stomped over to his chair, then took a swing at him. He only caught her hand just in time, before it connected with his jaw. "Don't you dare touch me! Get out, out, OUT OF MY HOUSE! Or I _will_ have Calcifer fry you!"

"Get 'im, Sophie," the old witch said, this time with a cackle.

"Sophie!" Howell cried, raising both hands to block her blows. She was really trying to clock him. But he couldn't hurt her in return, with magic _or_ with force. The dog ran in circles at Sophie's feet, wheezing in excitement. Perhaps that motivation to leave could come _right now?_ "Calcifer! Dog! Sophie! Back off. I don't want to hurt you. Any of you."

"Just you try!" Sophie screamed, and backed away a few steps. It was only to grab something from the table, the first thing she could lay her hands on. Thankfully it was only a teacup. She had great aim; Howell had to float it, as well as the next one, safely back to the table. "What is going on here? Don't _you_ dare use magic in my house!"

It wasn't just the floating trick; a bright, white, person-sized flash of light had appeared between them. A grey-cloaked human figure stepped through the light. The door strobed closed behind him. Howell was utterly and incredibly relieved to see that the figure was Ben Suliman.

"Ben!" Howell breathed. "Thank heavens."

"Howl," Ben said, and turned as another item of kitchen china slapped into his coat. He was holding what looked like a skinny white candle with sparks sputtering out of one end. "Sophie?"

"Who are you?" Sophie was screaming. "If you're a friend of his, then you can just get out, too! Oooh!"

"Well, hello there," the witch cooed.

"I'm here to help, Sophie," Ben said in a kind voice and with a somewhat amused expression. "I won't ask what's going on, since you're involved, Howl. But I've come to get you home."

Sophie ignored Ben and nipped around his tall form to Howell's chair, and started again with trying to clobber him.

"You'll need him to get Howl back, Sophie," Ben said, with every appearance of enjoying the drama.

"No I don't!" she yelled, and tried to kick Howell. "I'll get him back myself if I have to. But you-- you _Not-Howl_. You will leave, or die!"

"Ben!" Howell moaned, and used a quick bit of magic to halt her foot in midair only just before it connected with his shin.

Ben sighed and reached out to clasp Sophie's shoulder. She stopped yelling all in a rush and dropped her hands to her sides, breathing heavily and glaring.

"What did you do to her?" Calcifer asked.

"I just calmed her down a bit," Ben said in a voice that was still gentle. "There's a young man who looks much like you, Howl, back at the castle, who wants to return here. He said something about you being a pilot, Sophie, and that he misses you terribly."

"Howl," Sophie whispered, and sank back onto the sofa next to the witch, a look of desolate hope on her features. The dog threw itself onto her feet.

"About time somebody did _something_," Calcifer said.

**x x x**

**End Chapter 8.**

**Thanks bunches for commenting, y'all! Everything, good or bad, helps, and is very nice to boot. I've taken the "low road" with this story, and have kept it sort of light, when actually, this story could have been very dark. Hope no one is offended. **

**Next: Intervening stuff. Two chapters to go.**


	9. Clearing Things Up

**As Others See **

**By Jedishampoo**

**Rating:** M overall, this chapter T. Some language, sexuality.

**Summary:** A magical misfire ends with the wrong Howls in the wrong worlds. Howl's Moving Castle (Movie) crossover with Howl's Moving Castle (book).

**Author's Notes: **I now have the approval of the betas to post these chapters-- thanks to sakura haru and sharpeslass! Thanks for your patience.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters in this story, Diana Wynne Jones or Studio Ghibli does. I'm just playing with them.

**x x x**

**Chapter 9: Last-Minute Clearing Up.**

Howl waited. He stood on the rug before the hearth and stared at Calcifer's logs as they pulsed with orange light, forcing himself to keep still as a statue, to not pace or bite a fingernail as he so dearly wished. Perhaps he did not appear as cool and collected as he would have liked, for Lettie took turns watching Howl with a sympathetic gaze and glancing at the mirror. Sophie, her chin in her hands, stared at the sparking little candle.

"What a neat little bit of magic," Michael was saying. He'd turned around a kitchen chair and sat on it with his arms propped over the back. "All of it. I knew Howl could create doors that went to other worlds, physical doors. But the dimensional transporting! If it wasn't for the messed-up spell, you and Howl could just go anywhere! Zip! I wish I could do it."

Howl continued to stare at the slowly-disintegrating logs, only vaguely listening to Michael. He was glad it had appeared easy, that he'd retained some sort of sorcerous stature in the eyes of these people. Mostly, though, his thoughts were concerned with Suliman, and home, and whether or not Suliman could come back _any time now_ and report on Sophie's well-being.

It had been what-- five minutes at least? Surely something had gone wrong, Howl thought, and Suliman was stuck, and they'd have to start all over again. Howl entertained a brief mental picture of all the inhabitants of this world going over to his one by one-- pop!-- until it was filled and he was left here alone.

Michael continued despite the silence. "Maybe Martha and I could visit your world, Howl. See what things are like there, find our counterparts--"

"No," Howl interrupted, looking up. "Believe me, you don't want to."

"He's right, Michael," Sophie said. Howl glanced over at her. It was the first time she'd acknowledged his existence since she'd arrived that morning. "Worlds are one thing. This-- this is just _wrong._"

Everyone was quiet after that, and so Howl resumed his attitude of contemplation. After only a few more moments he heard a _fzzt_, one of the loveliest sounds it had ever been his privilege to hear. Suliman stepped through a white-bright portal back into existence.

Howl barely restrained himself from grabbing at Suliman's lapels. "Welcome back. Was he there? Was _Sophie_ there?"

Suliman nodded. "Yes, and yes. There seemed to be a bit of an-- altercation going on, but all is fine now."

Sophie spoke up again. "An altercation?"

Howl, who'd at first breathed a deep sign of relief, held his breath again at this last. A fight? In his house? Unbelievable. "What _kind_ of altercation?"

Suliman's grey eyes shifted to the side, a strangely evasive expression on such a distinguished face, and he held his hands up before him, palms out.. "I'm sure they can tell you all about it in, oh, another twenty minutes or so. Let us know when we get to the five-minute mark, Michael."

"Okay."

"But--" Howl began.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Ben," Lettie said. She stood and walked over to touch Suliman's elbow. Her dark eyes slid over to Howl, who was clenching and unclenching his fingers. "You can't _not_ tell us now."

Howl agreed. The room had taken on that yellow, surreal quality again. If Howl had hurt Sophie, then Howl would have to kill him. He _hated_ killing people.

"Everything's all right!" Suliman reiterated, waving his upturned hands for emphasis. He sighed and sat at the table to nurse his tea, likely tepid after his trip. "Sophie was-- she does look very like you, Sophie, except for her hair, an extraordinary color on such a young woman--"

"Ben!" Lettie warned.

"Yes, yes." Suliman looked up at Howl, rather nervously. "Apparently, Sophie was trying to throw Howl out of the house, and me as well. But I explained everything and they're all ready to go. They're fine!"

"Sounds like Howl, all right," Sophie put in, dryly.

"Throw him out?" Howl said, flabbergasted. "Sophie wouldn't do such a thing without a very good reason. What did he do to her?"

"They didn't say. It seemed to be merely some sort of misunderstanding."

Howl clenched and unclenched his fists some more, unable to think. He felt small, warm fingers grasp his elbow gently, and whipped around. It was Sophie. She was looking up at him with unreadable but not unkind brown eyes.

"Howl, come with me for a minute, please," she said in a flat, quiet voice, and tugged at his arm. "I'd like to speak with you in private."

Howl didn't know what else to do at the moment except follow her. He nodded and Sophie led them down the entryway stairs, turned the knob to yellow, and opened the door. It was a sunlit flower field, pretty and serene in exactly the way Howl _didn't_ feel at the moment.

They took a few silent steps away from the castle door, which here was set in a small shack not unlike Howl's uncle's cottage. Howl breathed deeply of the scented air, trying to release his nervous hostility. Sophie had probably merely discovered the other Howl's deception, if indeed he had deceived her, and was asserting herself by throwing the man out of the castle. Howl could respect that. He breathed again, a great surreptitious gulp of air. He was going home soon, and perhaps he _would_ attach himself to Sophie's side and follow her about until she grew absolutely sick of him, and even perhaps after that. It could be rather exciting.

Well, exciting until he was arrested for murder, that was.

Howl halted when Sophie did. She turned and touched his elbow again, then crossed her arms against the light but chilly breezes. Her long hair swirled about her brown dress; she'd not even grabbed her cloak. Howl took off the black jacket and handed it to her silently. She slid her arms into it and stood there, looking down at the yellowing grass under their feet.

Howl waited for her to speak while the seconds ticked by in his brain. Finally, Sophie looked up and met his eyes. "I just wanted to tell you. Whatever happens, I'll take care of it. I'm used to it."

Howl sighed. "What do you mean?" he asked. He had an idea what she was trying to say, but he was a little _stretched_ at the moment and felt like forcing her to elaborate.

She released her breath in a frustrated _pfft_. "You know what I mean. Howl is not a _completely_ bad person. He can be sly, and vain, and he can behave very foolishly at times. But he can also be very kind and caring. That he was even still _there_ says something about how he's changed. This last day has been quite strange all around, and any number of things could have happened or have happened, and yet I love him and so you probably shouldn't ever come back. If you can help it. There."

She was ordering him away! Like he'd ever really want to come back anyway. He must have appeared very savage when they'd been inside. Howl crossed his arms and looked at her. He couldn't quite resist quirking a grin. "Are you saying that happiness is not overrated?" he said, quoting her words from yesterday.

She smiled a bit in return. She seemed relieved. "Exactly."

Howl's grin became a laugh. "Don't worry," he said, and on an impulse, kissed her on the forehead. He was relieved that she didn't stiffen up or misinterpret the gesture, and also that he felt nothing sexual for her whatsoever. It _had_ been a strange day. But one could only help what one did, after all. "Goodbye. Good luck."

Sophie chuckled at that. "Goodbye to you also," she said, and walked past him, back to the door.

Howl shook his head and followed her. He'd thought himself so insightful and intelligent yesterday, figuring everyone out like he was one of those methodical people who took clocks apart and put them back together. And yet she'd been the one to know exactly what to say and do to make him feel better. Howl had better watch out.

There were only ten minutes left on the timer when they returned. Enough time for Howl to roll up his sleeves and get ready to work some magic. There were some questioning looks, but both he and Sophie ignored them. Howl's nervousness was gone, replaced only with happy anticipation.

"Three, two, one," Suliman counted at last. The little candle spat a last shower of sparks with a _whoosh_.

"_Elos forthum_," Howl thought, and then everything went black.

**x x x**

Howell stood near the magic bench, watching the tiny yellow-white sparks as they sizzled, one by one in seeming slow motion, from the ridiculous little timer-candle that Ben Suliman had brought with him.

Sure, it was doing its job. And Ben's plan should work, there was no doubt about that. The timer just looked really stupid. And why had Ben given them an entire half-hour to prepare? Time had actually slowed down, Howell was sure of it.

For a minute or so that seemed like a lifetime, Howell watched spark after spark of magically-activated blue-rose oil form at the tip of the candle, grow and then float off. It looked like an icicle melting in the sun, upside-down (or was it right-side-up? Howell couldn't decide). And for that whole minute that seemed like a lifetime, he could feel five pairs of eyes staring at him. Calcifer was in his hearth, looking a bit smug. Sitting on the couch were the witch, Markl-- holding the dog-- and of course, Sophie.

She had her arms crossed and was glaring at him. She was still under Ben's calming spell-- Howell had been afraid to remove it-- but underneath he could tell she was furious and hurt. Every emotion was evident in her big, glassy brown eyes. It made him uneasy. He couldn't identify the exact feeling or the source of the uneasiness; it wasn't the guilt he'd felt last night; that had been a sort of thrill-of-the-forbidden kind of guilt brought on by the romance of the night and fantastic sex.

A perfectly normal emotion, that one was, for he'd made plenty of girls in his day. Oh, he'd been in love with all of them for a short time. He'd been honest that way, at least, before he'd run off, and without the slightest bit of guilt. For what was the point of prolonging their agony or his when there was no true feeling involved?

Once he'd nabbed Sophie-- his-- he'd realized he no longer wanted that up-and-down. She was lovely. She didn't take too much of his crap. She cared for him in her way and made him feel secure, happy. And yet, she was wrapped up in all of this unaccustomed negative emotion as well. He just couldn't quite figure out how. He could only be glad that soon he would be doing what he should have done fifteen minutes ago-- leaving-- and that he would be going home, where none of it would matter anymore.

Sophie spoke up. "Why did you pretend to be Howl?" she asked. Her voice was flat and dull, lifeless, an effect of Ben's calming spell.

_I_ am_ Howell_, he wanted to say, but he knew exactly what she meant. So he told the truth. "It seemed the easiest thing to do."

"It was very cruel of you," she said. Her screaming had been bad; this cool, reasonable tone was worse, by far. It made him feel like he was sitting in a confessional.

"I didn't think any of you would know," Howl admitted.

Sophie glared at him for a few stretched moments over her crossed arms. "I should have known you weren't Howl," she said, finally. "You're fat."

"Ah!" Howell cried. He put his hands on his hips and glared back at her. "Now you're just being nasty. I'm not fat." _I'm not_, he thought. _NOT fat. Quite FIT, actually. _

_Perhaps he would never eat again. _How would she like that? Of course, she'd probably be ecstatic if he starved to death. But then, he'd never see her again to give her either the satisfaction or the guilt. When he returned home he planned to raise so many blocking spells, no one from this world would be able to get through until he'd been dead at least a hundred years. Perhaps he _was _cruel.

"He's not fat. Why did you call him fat, Sophie?" Markl took the opportunity to ask. The oppressive atmosphere in the room had kept the boy quiet up until then.

"I was being nasty," Sophie said, jutting out her chin and crossing her arms more firmly. She was so quiet and logical that Howell began to wonder if she really _was_ still under Ben's spell. Some people had the ability to grow more spooky-quiet the angrier they became.

"You'll understand when you're older," the old lady told the boy, and patted him on the shoulder. She looked over at Howell with a roguish grin that made him cringe. "So. You already have a girl?"

"Yes," Howell muttered. "Her name's Sophie."

"Hmph," said Sophie with a jutted chin.

"Too bad," the witch chuckled. "Wonder if there are any more of you out there?"

"I certainly hope not," Sophie mumbled, almost but not quite _sotto voce_.

Markl felt more free to chatter now that others were doing so. "So it was that spell, huh? Wow. So is there someone like me where you come from, too?"

"Sort of," Howell said. He didn't feel like talking about it. Now that everything-- in a way-- was out in the open, he felt like a stranger again. The brief camaraderie he'd experienced with this family late yesterday was gone. Still, he didn't really want to be rude to the kid; he gave him a short conspiratorial smile. "He's a pretty good apprentice, like you."

Sophie merely glared; she didn't dare _hmph_ at that one.

"Hah!" Markl laughed, leaning forward in interest, short legs dangling over the edge of the couch. The dog wheezed in his arms. "Wow. I can't believe I didn't know. Or you, Calcifer. He even fooled you."

"Yeah, well," Calcifer said in a somewhat sheepish voice. "I figured it out, eventually. Sorry, Sophie."

"That's all right, Calcifer," she said in a flat voice that still somehow managed to achieve a bit of that school-mistressy tone she'd had yesterday. She stared at Howell. "Some people are very good at being fake and untrustworthy. They do it to profit from others' misfortunes. My father called them _con artists_."

"Oh come _on_!" Howell cried. _Oh, come on? Now you're being nasty? _He was quite the master of rhetoric today, was he not? For some reason he could examine himself, but not defend himself. "I didn't _mean_ to come here. How could I have possibly profited from-- uh. Oh." He'd just realized how she might see it.

"Yeah, Sophie." Thankfully that was Markl again, coming unknowingly to Howell's rescue. "He only pretended to be Howl. Probably so we wouldn't be scared or upset at what happened. Howl might have done that, too."

"Not like that," Sophie said.

Such quiet conviction on her part made Howell wonder: how did she know, for sure? And what, exactly, had been going on over in his world? Though apparently being a nice guy got things done, sometimes. For that group over there had been the first to devise a solution-- an amazingly _simple_ solution, a go-between-- to this little switch-problem. And what had Howell been doing? He told himself he'd tried to get home. But what he'd really been doing was eating (which he'd never do again), shopping and shagging his doppelganger's girl.

Silence reigned for a while after that, a few moments in a purgatory of staring eyes, stretched into another eternity. And then, suddenly, all at once, the pieces of the puzzle clicked together in Howell's brain. He realized exactly why he was uneasy, and why this was different from all those other times, and why he felt so guilty and why he couldn't defend himself properly and why he hadn't simply run off earlier.

It was because what he'd done had been completely, utterly wrong. He'd started out wrong by botching the spell (well, with Michael's help, of course). Then, the second he'd landed in this world, he'd pretended to be someone he wasn't and had never rectified his error. Despite Sophie's-- this one's-- school-mistressy, always-right, fat-commenting ways, he'd done her a wrong.

He'd done things no engaged-to-be-married man ought to have done, misunderstanding or not. And he'd never apologized. Living his irreverent life had been so easy before because he'd never seen it through to all its consequences. Magical battles with great evil didn't count; those were part of the fun of being a wizard.

He _should_ be a different man from the one he'd been before he met Sophie-- his. He might not change overnight (and clearly hadn't) but it was time to grow up, and finish the job. Where to start, though?

Howell sighed. If there was one thing he hated, it was being pinned down. But he hated being pinned down in front of an audience even more.

"Right," he said, and cracked his knuckles for courage. Why was magic so easy and all the normal, everyday stuff so difficult? "Calcifer, you have an eye on the time, don't you?"

"Yeah," Calcifer said. "You've got eighteen minutes and fourteen--"

"Fine," Howell said. He walked over to Sophie and gave her an ironic sort of bow, very quaint, he thought. "May I speak to you in private for a minute?"

"I can go with you, Sophie, if you want," Calcifer said in a puppy-dog sort of helpful voice that was _very_ guilty-Calcifer.

"No thank you, Calcifer," Sophie said, then nodded and stood, and gave Howell an equally sort of ironic curtsey in return. She was still wearing her robe and slippers, but was dignified all the same. Then she followed Howell across the room like an automaton. "Revenge for the fat comment?"

"No revenge," Howell said, though he'd considered it, earlier. She _was_ usually right. It was annoying. He chose a door and Sophie nodded. It was the empty bedroom. Just then he realized why it didn't look lived in. It was hers but she didn't sleep there. Dreamlike snippets of the previous night zipped through his brain, unbidden. Howell shook his head. _Back to business._

Sophie shut the door firmly behind them; no pretense at propriety did she make, as his own Sophie might have. They were way past that. She folded her arms across her chest again and looked at him.

"What do you want?"

"I want to say… I'm sorry." It was surprisingly easy to say. Howell hardly choked on the words at all. He felt quite virtuous.

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Do you?"

"Yes. I did the wrong thing. I should have just said who I was from the very beginning, and then none of the other… things would have happened."

"Well, yes. May I ask you something?" At his nod, Sophie continued in her slow, eerily-dead voice. "I just want to know how stupid you thought I was."

"What?" Howell cried, staring. Whatever he'd expected, it hadn't been that. If she really felt that way-- _that_ was just _wrong_. "I don't think you are stupid at all!"

Sophie closed her eyes and shook her head. "No, really. In my head I've run through every moment of yesterday, every conversation we had, trying to realize when I should have figured it out." She opened her brown eyes-- Sophie's eyes, staring at him with calm disgust. "And trying to remember every opportunity you might have had to tell me the truth. And trying to decide why you didn't trust me."

"That's not it at all," Howell said, cringing inwardly. She really knew how to go for the jugular. And he'd thought she was soft. _He _was the one who'd been stupid. He'd forgotten that she'd probably rescued her Howl as his Sophie had rescued him, and to boot, she'd done it without any magical abilities whatsoever. She'd dumped water on Calcifer. _How had he forgotten that?_ "I didn't think that. Things were simply… odd. Disoriented. Things just happened, and I didn't know how to stop them. They sort of. Spiraled."

"Spiraled. Hmph," Sophie said. She stared at him even more closely, as if looking for truth. Or perhaps she was looking for Howell. "Last night. I said and… did things, that I would only have done with Howl. Because I love him, and trust him, and because he loves me. Now I feel guilty, and I want to blame you, not keep second-guessing myself. So tell me: should I have known, and if so, when?"

Howell stared back. Why did she have to be so damned _reasonable_ and _logical_ about it? She was like his mother, or his sister, if they had ever berated him in a completely normal tone of voice rather than shrieking. And with her white hair and inherent dignity, she was almost like a Mrs. Pentstemmon.

"I didn't give you the opportunity," Howell said, firmly. "You shouldn't feel guilty at all. I'm very clever in that way, resourceful when I need to be."

"My word, you're cocky," she said with another quirked eyebrow. Her slippered foot tapped a slow tattoo upon the floor. "Though I suppose I should have known. Very well, then. Tell me how you could have done…that… to your Sophie-- whatever she is to you?"

"My fiancee," Howell mumbled. The jugular, right. He certainly didn't want to say, _well, you were just her then_. Because really, she hadn't been. She'd been a lot of things. "I do love her, you know. I won't tell her. And I won't do it again."

"You're a terrible person."

"Listen," Howell said. He couldn't take much more of this. He'd been trying to do the right thing, and all she could do was guilt him further. That wasn't how this apologizing-confession thing was supposed to work. _Was it?_ "You can keep going on at me, but I can't do anything other than apologize. I'm sorry. If you like, I can throw myself at your mercy. I can lean over like this," here he bent his head down and shifted the hair from the back of his neck, baring it. "And you can take your whack with the knife. Axe. Whatever. I deserve it. All of it."

Sophie _pffted_ an exasperated breath above his bowed head. "Do stop being melodramatic."

"Well, then, what do you want me to do?" Howell asked. He was becoming lightheaded from bending over.

"I want you to _go away._"

"Going." Howell stood and snapped his fingers at her. But now that he'd started this _penitent_ and _utterly contrite_ thing, he could hardly stop. Perhaps he _was_ being melodramatic. It wouldn't be the first time he'd been accused of such. "I just want you to know. If it makes you feel better. It wasn't… meaningless."

Sophie's dark eyes widened and her jaw dropped, leaving her mouth agape for a few seconds. Then she shut it with a click of her teeth. "The nerve! You're only trying to make yourself feel better. And you're only making me sick. Please don't speak to me any more." She turned around, moving in slow-motion like she was underwater, and opened the door.

She was right as usual. Howell hated it. "It wasn't _that _bad, was it?"

"Do shut up," came her voice over her shoulder.

_All that, and he wasn't to be forgiven? _Howell shrugged off his disappointment and followed her out of the room. He'd done what he could; if she didn't appreciate it then he was glad to be leaving, anyway.

Still, Howell couldn't say he didn't feel better for having gotten that apology business accomplished and over with. The atmosphere in the main room no longer seemed so oppressive. Sophie, carefully keeping her back to him, walked over to the little kitchen area and began to straighten and adjust things that needed absolutely no adjusting. Rather than feeling guilty any longer, Howell only found her demeanor rather charming. The staring, interested eyes of the rest of the family (which now included a _dog_) were more amusing than annoying; Howell winked at that shameless old witch and she laughed out loud. Markl only looked confused.

"You've got eight minutes and twenty-two seconds," Calcifer said.

"Thanks, Cal," Howell said, and went to the magic bench and cracked his knuckles again. The eight minutes flew by in a blur of interested comments from Markl, and the back of Sophie's robe as she resolutely pretended he wasn't there.

Finally, Calcifer counted down the last few seconds: "Three, two, one." The timer spewed a last little fountain of white, crinkly sparks.

"Ciao," Howell said, tossing the spell at the bowl, then "_forth--._" And all went black.

**x x x**

**End Chapter 9.**

**Thanks AGAIN! to everyone for commenting. Everything, good or bad, helps, and is very nice to boot. Good to know no one is offended (that I know of) by the lack of seriousness regarding Movie!Sophie's situation; there's a bit of seriousness in the last chapter but overall I think the light tone worked for me. **

**Next: Home! The last chapter.**


	10. Home and Home!

**As Others See **

**By Jedishampoo**

**Rating:** M overall, this chapter T. Some language, sexuality.

**Summary:** A magical misfire ends with the wrong Howls in the wrong worlds. Howl's Moving Castle (Movie) crossover with Howl's Moving Castle (book).

**Author's Notes: **AND I now have the approval of the betas to post this last bit-- thanks to sakura haru and sharpeslass! And thanks for your patience, readers.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters in this story, Diana Wynne Jones or Studio Ghibli does. I'm just playing with them.

**x x x**

**Chapter 10: Home and Home!**

This time when everything went black, Howl/Howell was conscious. It felt right, like doing magic _should_ feel, when it wasn't being flubbed/botched/blocked/_interfered_ with. It was an eternal trip, over in a second.

There was a _whoosh--_

**x x x**

_Whoosh--_

"_--um_." Howell arrived home after what had seemed an interminable and yet instantaneous trip with his hand still upraised, and the words still on his lips. He knew it was home because he arrived in the small dark room he'd built himself, and those were his books and bottles, and that was definitely the door to his bathroom. If he went upstairs he knew that there would be his sister's house in Wales out his bedroom window, just where it should be.

The crisp autumn sunlight shone through onto where he stood at the bench. And like all the very best entrances, he had an audience for this one. Standing or seated in various places were Michael, Ben Suliman, Lettie, and yes-- there, standing by the table, was his Sophie, glorious in her veil of red-gold hair and looking amazingly lovely in an orange dress.

"Hullo, everyone!" he said with a jaunty little wave of the hand he'd been holding in the air.

"That's Howl, all right," Sophie said, and then to Howell's immense surprise and delight, she practically threw herself onto him, arms wrapping around his shoulders to hold him tight. She gave him a quick, hard kiss, and Howell thought he might die of happiness from the sweet taste of her cool lips. Then she stepped back and smiled at him, the same besotted smile she'd given him the day she'd returned his heart. The heart in question thumped against his breastbone once, then twice. It was startling and it was fantastic at the same time.

"I can't be in the right place," Howell said, and held out his arms for more.

Sophie stepped forward again, hugged him for a brief, harsh moment, then stood back once more and slapped him. Hard.

Howell stared at her, raising a hand to his tingling cheek. He hadn't seen _that_ coming. He'd have stopped it first, if he had. It hurt. "Good heavens, am I to be assaulted at every turn?" he finally asked her.

"You probably deserve all of it," Sophie said with a glare and crossed arms.

_That_ was the Sophie Howell remembered. Not too nice and not too logical, just the way he liked her. Howell smiled, and rubbed at his cheek. He had his own family, and they had their own camaraderie. It may have been a somewhat contentious one, but it pleased him. Guilt was not for him.

Still, that slap had been in front of an audience, and Howell couldn't let it pass too easily. "Ben, why don't you do that thing you did before? The thing that calms down the hysterical ladies?"

"If you're home, then my work is done and I'm out of it, Howl," Ben told him, shaking his head. He looked at Lettie and stretched out a grey-cloaked arm. "Would you like me to show you what else I was working on before all of this business?"

"That's gratitude, Ben. Remember your head, and how you got it back," Howell pointed out. He was glad to be here, and thankful for Ben's help, but that didn't mean he could be mistreated or disregarded so easily.

Both Lettie and Ben ignored him. Lettie smiled, rather stupidly. "I'd love to."

"Well then I'd better go, also," Sophie said, giving Howell a look that could have been described as a cross between 'Tasmanian devil' and 'frightened rabbit.' "Michael, you'll finish cleaning up, won't you?"

"Sophie!" Howell gasped. _What had Ben told her?_ Howell would have to find out, later. But now-- he didn't want to be alone. He wanted to talk with Sophie, and appreciate her, and do whatever he could to erase the memory of the other one. "You're not leaving already!"

"Why shouldn't I?" she asked, with raised eyebrows.

Howell had been wrong, before. This was _not_ his same old Sophie. This Sophie had a bit of a new attitude, more assertive than passively-confrontational. He decided he sort of liked it. He wanted to know what had brought it on. He wanted to know _everything_. But she wanted to leave. He couldn't let her.

He didn't want to beg. But he knew he might sort of... _have_ to. Today had been a learning experience all around, with all sorts of adventures of the soul. And Howell knew in his heart that _she_, of all people, most deserved to reap whatever benefits he could offer. "Please," he practically whispered, and then he coughed to strengthen his voice and his resolve to plead if he needed to. "Don't go. I… missed you. I'd like you to stay for… a while."

"What?" Sophie's jaw dropped, not as much as the other's had, but her surprise was evident all the same. She blushed a little, even curiouser and more exciting than her surprise. "I-- well-- all right, I'll stay for a bit."

They stared at each other for a few silent moments. Michael coughed.

"Welcome back, Howl," he said, and reached out a hand to shake Howell's.

Howell grasped Michael's hand and gave it a firm shake, feeling thankful in that moment that he had such a sober and reliable young man as an apprentice and not a distractingly cute young kid. Though he suspected that Michael might not be around all that much longer. The thought gave Howell's stomach a tiny twist; he'd just gotten his family back. "Did _you_ miss me?"

"Oh. Of course," Michael said, stepping back and stuffing his hands into his pockets with a look that said, _you're spooking me and I want to go, anyway_. "That other guy-- Howl-- was pretty nice, though. But he wasn't you."

"Ah," Howell said. _Nice_ was just as he'd expected. And all for the best, considering what havoc a wretch could have wreaked-- witness his own behavior. And this boring black suit he was wearing.

Though Howell was uncomfortably aware that something had changed in his absence. He was here with Sophie and Michael and there was no Lettie or Martha. The lovely Lettie had skipped out with Ben as if she hadn't a care in the world for hers or Sophie's reputations, and yet before yesterday, their reputations had been Howell's constant, frustrating companions.

And there was Michael even now, making _leaving_ and _Martha_ noises.

"Oh, just go on, Michael," Sophie said, cementing Howell's stupefaction. She looked at Howell and shrugged. "Calcifer's here."

"Oh, yeah," Howell said, and turned to his hearth to see that familiar blue-green face hovering there. His Calcifer was so much more _cool_. "Hey, Cal. Did _you_ miss me, at least?"

"Nah," Calcifer said with a flap of his green flame-hair. "I figured you'd be back sooner or later."

"Did you?" Howell asked, and laughed. He was so very glad to be home, where nobody clung to him and made him feel guilty.

Michael ran out and despite Calcifer's presence, Sophie's face took on a bit of that nervous, twitchy aspect she'd had before. She turned in a rush, sending her pretty orange dress swinging about her ankles, and began to straighten the already-perfectly-straight things in the kitchen. Howell experienced an uncomfortable sense of déjà vu.

"So," Sophie said over her shoulder. "What was it like there?"

"Difficult. You can't know the day I've had," Howell said truthfully and with more of that déjà vu feeling.

"Ah." Her voice was carefully casual. Howell thought it was charming. "So I hear there was some sort of trouble when Ben arrived. What-- was that all about?"

Perhaps she was not so nervous and not so cute as Howell had first thought. That question had been so pointed he feared it might cut him open. He sat at the table, resisting the urge to change clothes, or rather, escape. "A misunderstanding," Howell said, equally as careful as she.

"I'm not surprised, mind you," Sophie said, still not looking at him. She took a deep breath. "Did sh-- _they_ know who you were when it happened? When you were… switched?"

Howell's stomach gave a quick short wrench; it did not feel like nostalgia, as it had when he'd thought about Michael. It felt more like fear. Sophie wasn't asking the usual random questions she asked when she was upset. This must be a new mood, one he didn't recognize. A frightening insight that he did not know her as well as he'd thought and could possibly lose her was creeping into his brain. He would have to answer well. He'd already decided she deserved his good behavior, so he couldn't back out now (or, as Sophie might have put it, _slither_ out). And he'd had lots of practice, this morning.

"Well…" he said. "Actually, no. As I said, a misunderstanding. I didn't know right away what had happened. They didn't know I wasn't him. I didn't want to lose that advantage."

"My," Sophie said, turning and giving him an odd look from her brown eyes. They were particularly knowing; or else Howell was simply growing paranoid. Then she turned back to her fidgeting at the kitchen counter. "You sound as though they were enemies, rather than victims of circumstance. They can't have been horrible. _He_ was very… nice."

"So I hear," Howell said. He rocked his chair back and stretched out his legs, and looked at Sophie thoughtfully. "_How_ nice?"

"Very."

"Indeed," Howell said. Now he was becoming angry. Sophie didn't fall for _nice_ people. She wasn't only trying to get information, she was needling him. And it was annoying. "Tell me more."

"No."

Howell rocked the chair forward, and its legs met the floor with a _clunk_. "You'd better just give it up now, Sophie, and tell me everything, because I'll find out one way or another."

"_You_ have no right to tell _me_ what to do. I am your fiancee, not your apprentice or your _servant_," Sophie said, swinging about to clench her fists at her sides and glare at him again.

Her eyes were practically glowing with anger, and her cheeks were pink, and her body language assertive; Howell's annoyance fled and his heart-- that item which was only an organ in his body and not connected with emotion at all-- clenched with that sudden fear again. And something else. Sophie had always been a feisty sort of kindly person but this-- this was an anger he'd never seen from her before. It was… _exciting_.

Fear and lust and anger made even more a heady mix of emotion than guilt and desire and comfort. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, and Howell forced himself to clasp his hands in front of him and only stare at her. He'd used to hate quarreling, but this was sort of exhilarating. And he would win. He would. "Tell me, Sophie."

"No. _You_ tell _me_. You tell me what you did to those people. To _her_."

Enough was enough. Guilt and good intentions would only take him so far, and now they were completely useless. Howell jumped up from the chair and grabbed at her arms, holding them at her sides, and kissed her.

And wonder of wonders-- she kissed him back. Very well. There was aggression there, but also possessiveness, and passion. Somewhere in Howell's burning mind he knew that it wouldn't be like it had been with the other Sophie. It would be better.

He forgot Calcifer, forgot his worry and his guilt and his anger. At some point he released her arms and grabbed her waist to tug her closer, and she found an equally firm grip on his shoulders. After a few blissful minutes of completely abandoned activity, just when Howell thought he might go down on his knees and offer to be her devoted slave forever, he felt a sharp pain in his shin.

"Ow!" Howell yelled. She'd kicked him, hard, with her little ankle boot. He released her altogether in surprise, and she jogged back, out of reach, and then ran over to the closet to grab her cloak. Howell didn't try to stop her; he was still too stunned. From everything.

"I'm going home," she announced, breathing a bit heavily. "You'll probably see me again."

_Little witch_, Howell thought as he watched her whip out the door and slam it behind her, sending leaves from the street outside swirling through his castle room. And here he'd thought she'd been looking like a frightened rabbit. How he loved her!

Ever had he fallen in and out of love instantly; did his continued enchantment with his Sophie's ire in all its forms mean that he'd changed? He thought so. And he had the perfect woman for him.

Howell turned to see Calcifer hovering above his logs, with a look on his blue face that said he'd seen everything but was trying to pretend he hadn't. "So?" Howell said to his old friend.

"You'll be the one telling her everything, is all I'm saying," Calcifer said. "People. You're so stupid."

"Yeah, I know," Howell said, and laughed. He knew he should be contrite, but he could be that later. He'd done it before, after all. Sophie would keep him in line. _Happy, secure, yes_. But right now he wanted out of these clothes, and he wanted a bath. "Cal, I've got a favor to ask you."

Calcifer made a sighing, crackling noise. "Hot water, I suppose?"

Howell laughed again and stomped off into the bathroom.

**x x x**

_Whoosh--_

Howl felt like he was being poured into something. And then, unlike last time he'd switched worlds and had been knocked unconscious and vision had returned slowly and reluctantly, this time it was instantaneous: the return of light and sight was quick and brutal and sharp.

He was standing over a table. No yellow surreal sensation here: all was utter clarity. It looked like his magic bench. The bottles and books and packets had been rearranged slightly, perhaps, but they felt right. He glanced down at himself and saw that he wasn't wearing what he'd had on a few seconds (years?) ago. It was his old blue suit, though the sleeves had been messed with and dangled from his wrists a bit frothily. _Ick. _And he was wearing his best black boots! Who had that other Howl thought he was? But further inspection revealed the red-and-silver ring on his forefinger, where it belonged, reassuring.

Howl could feel himself being watched. Hands held up for cautious defense, he swiveled his torso to the right to see four pairs of eyes staring hard at him. There was red-headed Markl (the correct one, Howl thought), Granny Witch and Heen on the couch. Calcifer, round and orange and just right, hovered over the hearth.

Over in the kitchen Howl spied a back that seemed familiar and a head of silver hair that was even achingly more so. He knew it was Sophie, he could feel it, but she wouldn't turn around so he could verify her existence with his own eyes.

"There's our boy," the old lady said, and creaked to her feet. "Welcome back. I'm going outside for a smoke."

"Master Howl?" Markl asked. Howl gave him a quick smile. The robed shoulders in the kitchen flexed in a well-known and well-remembered way as-- Sophie's--? hands messed about with something on the counter. Howl's heart thumped hard for a moment, filling his ribcage.

"Sophie?" he called.

The hands attached to the shoulders stilled and the form turned. Sophie's face was pale and stone-like, but her eyes were huge and heartbreakingly beseeching.

"_Is_ it you?" she asked.

"I think so," Howl said and laughed out loud in sheer happiness. He strode over to her and clasped her shoulders. Her eyes never left his face.

"Howl?"

"Hooray," Howl said and kissed her. And there it was, that thump of his heart again and the instant rushing of blood through his fingers and knees and toes, that whirl of emotion that was so much more than simply physical. _He was home!_

But something was off; Sophie was too still. She'd set her little fingers on his shoulders like she might usually do when he kissed her, but they were holding him in a way he might call vague. After a few moments of happy, distracted kissing Howl pulled back a scant inch or two and stared at Sophie's wonderful face in his hands. She stared back at him calmly.

"You dyed your hair back already," she said in a flat voice.

"Uhhhh!" came Markl's voice in an impatient groan. The old lady chuckled from the doorway.

"Hey there, Howl," Calcifer mumbled.

The rest of the family was apparently impatient for him to get this reunion over with, but Howl was trying to concentrate on Sophie. Something was wrong with-- _Oh_, he thought as he realized what it was.

"Sophie, darling," he said. "Somebody's put a spell on you."

"Yes, I know," she said, her voice cool and collected. "It was Mr. Suliman. I believe he was trying to be helpful."

"Ah," Howl said. Ben _had_ been rather evasive about how they'd resolved the _tossing-people-out-of-the-castle_ issue. Howl waved a finger at her. It had been a calming spell of some sort, and the effect of removing it was instantaneous. Her cheeks, nose and chin regained personality and emotion all at once, forming themselves into a _very_ unhappy face. _Uh oh_, Howl thought.

"Howl!" Sophie cried, and kissed him, this time with quick passion, but the kiss was all too short. She practically shoved him off, said "oh!" and then pivoted and ran, thumping her way up the stairs.

"Sophie!" Howl called, but she was gone. He stared around for a few moments, unsure whether or not to follow her.

"She's being weird this morning," Markl said. "I don't know why."

"Um," Calcifer said. The normally-loquacious little flame was being strangely quiet. That was _never_ a good sign.

"Heh," Granny chuckled again from the doorway to the side-yard. She was leaning against the doorjamb, one hand holding her cigar outside. Every couple of moments she'd take a drag and blow a cloud of blue smoke that spiraled into the wind. "Just give her a few minutes. She'll be all right."

Howl set his hands on his hips and looked at her. "What happened? What did he do? Tell me everything."

She rolled her eyes in her flabby face. "I'm not telling."

"Telling _what_?" Markl said, jutting his chin in childish frustration. "What has everyone been talking about all morning?"

"_Granny_," Howl warned. He so rarely called her that, he figured she'd know he was serious.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said with a grin. "You boys shouldn't worry your heads over nothing."

Howl sighed. He'd been gone one day, and already a secret society of women had formed under his roof. Well, truthfully, it had already been there. Howl knew he hadn't been king of his own castle for several months now.

"Calcifer?" he said, looking at the little demon.

Calcifer shrank down behind one of his logs, peeping only his yellow eyes above it. "Well, it _was_ me who figured it out. This morning. Though I sort of suspected it last--"

"Master Howl, are you going to tell us about it, what everything was like? Tell me about the spell, and the apprentice like me," Markl interrupted, ignoring Calcifer and the old lady.

"Hold that thought a bit, Markl," Howl said, distracted by bits of white and gold flashing about outside, past Granny in the open door. It looked like clothing was raining down into the yard. "_What_ is going _on_ out there?"

"Um," Calcifer said.

"Sophie!" Howl called and ran upstairs. He didn't _want_ to give her a few minutes. He wanted to know what was going on, wanted to confirm or deny anything the other Howl, the sly one, might possibly have done. And then make it better if he could, and move on. Everyone else he'd met in the other world was already beginning to feel like a fiction: this was real and home and he wanted it to stay that way.

Sophie was in his-- their-- bedroom. She had the window open and seemed to be tossing the entire contents of his bed out the window. Howl leaned on the doorframe and watched her quick, vengeful movements. It seemed _something_ had happened, at least. He was upset at Sophie's unhappiness, for a sweet and trusting nature betrayed was an ugly thing. But he wondered why he didn't feel angrier for himself. It was probably because he was not himself blameless. He'd caused it all in the first place, he decided, by trying to perform the iffy, unknown spell. It seemed like forever since he'd done it. Lots of things had happened in those intervening hours. And he could only control what he did from here on out.

"Sophie, what are you doing?" he finally asked, trying to keep his tone free from his amusement and worry.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" she asked in a snippy little voice. She didn't even turn around. "I'm doing laundry."

Actually, she seemed less upset than Howl might have thought she'd be. _That was a good sign, right?_ Sophie was stronger than most people, including himself, gave her credit for. She'd dealt with plenty of danger and weirdness from him. And the _now_ was what was important.

"Ah," Howl said. And then, "I missed you."

Sophie tossed the last pillowcase out the window and spun to face him, arms crossed.

"Well, I would have missed you, too," she said. "Had I known. I thought _he_ was _you_."

Anger wasn't even an issue for Howl, now. Sophie looked and sounded so peeved and adorable that Howell wanted to laugh and hold her. But some deeply-buried, male survival instinct told him it would be a very bad idea at that particular moment.

"That's not your fault," was all he said.

"Hmph," she said. Then she fisted her hands at her sides and stomped past him to the door. "You need to pay more attention to what you're doing when you play with your spells. I'm not going through _that_ again."

Her motherly, bossy attitude was so delightful, Howl's heart clenched in his chest with a keen ache. He'd missed her more than he'd known until this very moment.

"Where are you going now?" he asked.

"I'm taking a bath!" she said, and crossed the hall. She threw open the bathroom door and made to shut it in Howl's face, but he reached out an arm to wedge it open. She ignored it. "Alone!"

Staring at her tense little figure as she bent over and turned on the taps, something else clenched, lower, in Howl's belly. Had it really been only half an hour since he'd had indecent thoughts about her? It seemed like forever. She was so appealing and he loved her so dearly and wanted to comfort her so much, he didn't know if he could keep his hands off her. Howl suspected that whatever jealous anger he felt at the other Howl was making itself known to him in other ways.

"That reminds me, Sophie," he said to her back with a fond, feral little smile that she couldn't see but could probably hear. "I had this dream about you last night, sweetheart. It was lovely. There was a puddle, and--"

"Oooh!" Sophie spun to face him at that, her silvery, fine hair whirling about her head. He wanted to bury his fingers in it. Her chin was jutting out at him. She was incredibly desirable when she was angry. Her cheeks went all pink. "Men! You make me sick. All of you," she grated out, and with surprising strength, pushed him out of the doorway and slammed it in his face.

Howl heard the lock click. It wouldn't stop him for an instant if he really wanted to enter, and he knew she knew it, but Howl decided that retreat was the better part of valor in this instance. He didn't want to have to spend the rest of his days sleeping on the couch in his own flying castle . So he removed the defaced blue jacket, then sat on the floor of the hallway and leaned against the wall to talk to her.

"Did he hurt you?" he called through the door, half-dreading the answer.

"No!" came her muffled voice over the sound of running water. "Not really. That's what's wrong."

Howl smiled to himself with relief. "I don't blame you for anything, Sophie."

"That's nice," her snippiest little voice told him. There was only the sound of the water for a few minutes. Then she said, "I'm just afraid-- what if-- Oooh! I can't even say it aloud."

Did she mean, she was afraid of being pregnant? "Nah, please don't worry about _that_, Sophie. Please," Howl called to her. Howl himself wasn't worried. That wouldn't happen in _his_ bedroom, at least until he removed-- well, he wasn't going to bring that up to Sophie _now_. It would take a bit too much explanation for her current mood.

"Well, I'll know better next time," Sophie called out. She turned off the taps, and Howl could hear water splashing. "Though you'll make sure that doesn't happen. Right?"

"I'll certainly do my best, sweetheart," Howl called back quickly. Still, magic was a dangerous business. Best to be prepared. They should-- He heard more splashes. She would be naked. He thought about that for a moment, then remembered what he'd been thinking about just before that. "We'll have to think up code words or something, just in case. How about… 'elephants?'"

He heard her give a snort of laughter, quickly muffled. That was _definitely_ a good sign. _Strong, yes._ But she turned it into another _hmph_ all the same. "So. What was _she_ like?"

"Uhhh." Howl knew exactly who she meant. He thought hard. What to say at this moment? Finally he said, "Prickly?"

"Oh."

He didn't really want to talk about her, and didn't think Sophie would appreciate it anyway. The other Sophie hadn't been all that bad once he'd understood her a bit better. But he couldn't say that. And it would be unfair of him to vilify her. If he did, Sophie would only become suspicious, anyway.

Though Calcifer-- the blue one-- had said something odd this morning... Howl wished he'd known what sort of witch the other Sophie had been. He'd been concerned elsewhere and hadn't picked up on it. He supposed, given time to think about it, he would have realized…

"Sophie," he called. "Have you ever thought that you might have it in you to be a witch?"

"No!" Her vehemence surprised him. She soon explained, however. "Look how much trouble it causes, sometimes. You need someone _normal_ around to keep an eye on you."

"I do, indeed," Howl admitted. He wasn't offended. When Sophie was in a good mood she loved the magic he did. Rather, he felt reassured. Sophie had rescued him from a harmful contract, and saved Calcifer, and enchanted them both, and that had just been her way. Her magic was all in herself.

"Does she know?" Sophie called out, tentative.

"Yes, I think so." Howl knew exactly what Sophie meant. And he didn't pity the other Howl at all. He would get what he deserved. Probably, he'd get less than he deserved, or more, depending on how one looked at it. Murder might do it, but that was a bad idea no matter how one looked at it. Still, his heart ached mostly for Sophie. If Sophie wanted it…

"Hmph."

"Do you want me to kill him?" He kept his voice light, but the question was serious.

A few moments of silence passed. "No, not really," Sophie finally answered.

"I would, for you."

"I know."

Howl heard small feet on the stairs, and then a thump and a 'hey!' from Markl.

"Leave 'em alone, kid. You'll hear all about it later," came the old Witch's voice.

Then Howl heard a wheeze from Heen, and more footsteps going back down the stairs. Calcifer's voice mumbled, "That's what I'm afraid of."

Howl smiled to himself and his heart did that melty-swelling thing that felt so odd and wonderful. He'd have to thank the old lady later. How he loved his family. Michael and Martha and Lettie and Ben and even Sophie had been interesting enough (too interesting at times), but they would have worn him out if he'd spent more than a day there. Life there seemed hectic, jumbled. That wasn't his life, and it didn't suit him any longer. This one did, shut doors and sitting in hallways and all. He hummed a few bars of the sad barmaid-and-solider song.

Sophie heard him. "Why are you so happy?" she called, but her voice had lost that confrontational air. Howl was glad.

"Sophie, darling, I missed you," Howl sighed. "I'm so glad to be home."

"I'm glad too," Sophie called through the door, followed by a mumbled something that sounded like _every day an adventure._

Howl's abdomen and chest ached. "Sophie, can I please come in?"

"Fine," she said after a moment, with a sigh of her own.

_Hooray_, Howl thought. He jumped up and threw open the door, and slammed it shut behind him. Sophie was buried under bubbles but her shoulders and knees showed and they were all wet and gleaming and her hair was dripping. She was the loveliest and most arousing thing Howl had ever laid eyes on. She gave him a little smile.

"Elephants," Howl said, and just sort of _toppled_ over in the bathtub, splashing water everywhere. Sophie shrieked and Howl's mouth and hands were filled with soap bubbles and skin and all was made clean again.

**END.**

**Phew! A teensy bit gooey but I just had to do it, I'm such a softie. At first I'd really been dying to do a dark!Howl story and had originally envisioned a little different tone to the story and a less happy ending, but overall it pretty much wrote itself. There could have been a lot more with the different worlds etc., and bringing in different characters, but in the end that wasn't what this story was about. I'm still really dying to do a Dark!Howl story, BTW. ;)**

**Thanks for reading!! Tell me honestly what you think! Does anyone like it? Does anyone HATE it? Does anyone feel, "Eh?" :) **

**I really appreciate your comments and your time. I write fanfiction for fun and it's always wonderful to hear what people think, and whether they enjoy it or not! **


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